


Sweet Treats

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bakery!AU, Cupcakes, Gratuitous Use of Frosting, M/M, Pastry Chef Tim Drake, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Jason smiles again. “You really like a challenge, don’t you?”“I love a good challenge,” Tim agrees, grinning back at his hero.“So do I.” Jason hesitates, then reaches out and runs his thumb over Tim’s cheek. It comes back red, which Tim swears could probably be from the amount of blood rushing to his face because Jason just touched him. “You always covered in frosting?”For once, Tim’s brain lines up with his mouth and he says something that sounds clever. “Only on special occasions.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been posted on my Tumblr for a couple weeks now and is finally making its way over here. It grew out of a prompt I received and decided to make a full story out of. For those of you who have been following it on Tumblr, the story has been edited and expanded slightly, so you could say this is my _preferred_ edition.  >.<

Tim bites his tongue as he concentrates on carefully icing the delicate cupcake in front of him. It’s a special order for a wedding and he wants each one to be perfect. Stephanie teases him for being too intent on his decorating but it’s the meticulous nature of it that appeals to him in the first place. That and the creative freedom.   
  
He still can’t believe he runs a small business — and a bakery to boot. How far the Drake name has fallen. Whatever, Tim’s happy and that’s all that matters. He took what little inheritance he got after his parent’s death (that survived the conservatorship while he was in the foster system) and promptly invested it. Baking always served as an escape for him, and his foster family, specifically Grandma Ives, encouraged it and taught him all of her favorite recipes. After he graduated high school, rather than go to college like his parents would have wanted, he went to culinary school and became a pastry chef.   
  
The intense pace of restaurant life didn’t suit him, so he sold all his stock and bought a food truck where he started selling cupcakes and other easy to make (but no less delicious) baked goods. Thanks to his tech savvy, Tim maintained a strong presence on social media and soon his business grew. After six months, he hired Stephanie as his baking assistant and they hit it off fabulously, with her bright energy contrasting nicely against his somewhat intense personality.   
  
And now, here he is with his own storefront. Stephanie still takes the truck out during peak hours but now Tim stays behind for the most part to hide in his kitchen and simply create. Customers occasionally interrupt but most of his work now comes from special orders.   
  
Like the six dozen black forest cake cupcakes with a dark cherry filling and a blood red buttercream frosting dusted with edible gold glitter. They’re for a gothic inspired wedding, which Tim finds awesome. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last few years, it’s that the eclectic crowd inspires his creativity the most.   
  
“Tim!” Steph all but shouts as she comes bursting into the kitchen. He’s used to it, so he barely startles and keeps working. “Oh. My. _God_. You won’t believe who just walked in and asked for you.”   
  
“Let me guess. Mickey Mouse?”  
  
That earns him a smack upside the back of his head. “No! It’s _Jason Wayne_.”   
  
It takes a moment for the name to sink in. When it does, Tim drops his piping tube. “You’re shitting me.”   
  
Jason Wayne. Second son (adopted) of Bruce Wayne. Formerly Robin and now Redwing. Tim is a fan. A massive fan. He’s been a fan of Robin since he first figured out Dick Grayson was Batman’s sidekick at the tender age of nine. But Jason...Tim always kind of considered him his Robin, especially after the night he rescued a younger Tim from some gang on his way home from the library late one night. His foster family didn’t live in the best part of town, but it wasn’t the worst either.   
  
“I know!!” Steph all but squeals as she shoves him toward the door. “He says he has a special order he wants to run by you. Now get out there!” She picks up the piping bag to take over. The cupcakes have to be done in a couple hours.   
  
Tim stumbles through the door but he still takes a moment to glare back over his shoulder at his friend and assistant. “Just be careful with those!”  
  
“Since when am I not? You taught me how to do it, Mr. Picky-Pants.”   
  
His ears burn as Tim turns around to greet his famous customer. Of course he heard that. Jason leans casually against the counter and grins at him. “She’s feisty, huh?”  
  
“You have no idea.” Tim rubs his hands on his icing smeared apron and grimaces when they’re still red. “Uhh, excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. A little icing never hurt anyone.” Jason holds out his hand. “I’m Jason Wayne.”  
  
“I know,” Tim replies and then blinks. “Umm. Sorry. Tim Drake.” He shakes Jason’s hand. It’s big and warm and wow, there’s a lot of scars on his knuckles.   
  
Jason must notice where Tim’s eyes land. “I box and do some MMA,” he offers.   
  
“Oh. Yeah.” Tim reluctantly lets go and tries to put his business face on, much to the dismay of his inner fanboy who is screaming and bouncing in glee at meeting one of his heroes. “So! Steph says you want me to make something for you?”   
  
The taller man chuckles easily. He must be used to this. “I am. Normally we have Alfred make cakes, but he just broke his foot and he’s getting up there in age, so I thought maybe we’d contract out this year. I asked around and everyone said you were the guy to see.” 

Tim’s ears burn some more, which does nothing to help the professional image he’s trying to portray. “Wow, thanks. I’ll do my best. So, what’s the occasion?”   
  
“Damian’s 16th birthday.” Jason doesn’t sound enthused.   
  
Even Tim’s heard stories about how challenging the youngest Wayne (and current Robin) is. His social blunders are media gold, the poor kid. 

“Gotcha. So, teenager then.” His wheels are already turning. He grabs a pad of paper and a pencil and then heads over to a small table in the front of the shop. “Come into my office,” Tim jokes.   
  
Jason takes a seat, his long legs sticking out from either side of the table. The denim of his jeans strains over his incredibly muscular thighs and Tim does his best not to whimper. But it’s hard because the man somehow manages to hit every single one of his buttons, also known as tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome. It’s not fair.  
  
“What does Damian like?”  
  
The question garners an eye roll from Jason. “Sharp pointy objects. Art. Dogs. Any music that involves a symphony orchestra.”  
  
Tim has done dog cakes before and even one that resembled Monet’s garden, which had been a bitch and a half, so he leans more towards the other ideas on the list. “A violin perhaps? Oh! Maybe a throwing star! Does he like ninja?” He gets all excited and starts sketching, completely missing the sharp look Jason gives him.   
  
“He hates ninja but loves throwing stars. He’s got a few,” the man replies cautiously.   
  
But Tim’s in the zone and keeps going, drawing a design for a modified star-shaped cake and sharpening the edges, tightening some lines and widening others. “I haven’t seen one since I stopped watching _Naruto_ , but I think it’s something like this.” He shows Jason the sketch.   
  
He stares at it a moment before grinning broadly. “That looks fucking awesome. You think you can pull it off?”   
  
Tim scoffs. “I don’t see why not. It’s lying flat after all. Unless I can get it to stand. Or spin!” The wheels start to turn again, and Jason brings him back to the present by actually waving his hand in Tim’s face.   
  
“Slow your roll there, Timmers. Flat is fine.”   
  
“Oh. Okay.” He can’t help the slightly disappointed feeling that he won’t get a chance to really show off for his favorite Robin. Tim forces himself to focus. “So what kind of flavors does Damian like?”  
  
Jason rattles off a list of some definitely uncommon tastes, but by the end, Tim only has one idea and he can’t wait to give it a try. “I wonder if I can make a spiced chai cake.”   
  
“That...that would be awesome if you can pull it off.” Jason sounds impressed.   
  
Tim is already making a shopping list as star anise and cardamom aren’t spices he keeps on hand. “I’ll have to make some samples to see how it turns out. Are you available at all for a tasting?” Another really important question comes to mind and Tim brushes his bangs away from his face. “When do you need this by?”   
  
Jason’s staring at him in bemusement. “Two weeks. I know it’s short notice with what I saw online but I was kinda hoping maybe you’d make an exception.”   
  
Tim laughs at him. “I’m making Damian Wayne’s birthday cake. Even if it’s just for a small party, that kind of exposure is huge for a little business like mine. I’d be a fool not to.”  
  
“In that case, I can stop by next week for a tasting,” Jason says and stands. This meeting is apparently over, at least for now.   
  
“That should be plenty of time. This is going to be fun.” Tim knows he sounds eager and doesn’t care. He’s making a birthday cake for _Robin_. If only he could put that on his resumé. 

Jason smiles again, and Tim wants to just melt because it’s so unlike the playboy smile he sees on TV or his Instagram feed (because of course he follows Jason Wayne). “You really like a challenge, don’t you?” he asks. 

“I love a good challenge,” Tim agrees, grinning back at his hero. 

“So do I.” Jason hesitates, then reaches out and runs his thumb over Tim’s cheek. It comes back red, which Tim swears could probably be from the amount of blood rushing to his face because Jason just touched him. “You always covered in frosting?” 

For once, Tim’s brain lines up with his mouth and he says something that sounds clever. “Only on special occasions.” 

Or not. 

But Jason smirks and raises his thumb to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the red frosting that has apparently been on Tim’s face the entire time they were talking. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes the pencil and pad of paper from Tim and writes something on it before handing it back. “See you soon.” 

Tim stands there petrified as Jason walks out and drives away in an absolutely sick red car that screams money and horsepower. Once he’s out of sight, he looks down at the pad of paper. 

There’s a phone number written next to his sketch. More importantly, there’s a little note in a bold print. 

_I wonder if you taste as good as your frosting?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all amazing! 100 kudos on the first chapter? And it's barely been up two days? I must be doing something right...

The kitchen smells like chai. 

It’s a warm and spicy scent that lends a foreign air to the normally sweet scents that come out of the ovens, but overall, Tim is pleased with the results of his experiments. There are three small sample cakes waiting for Jason to try when he arrives. 

Whenever he finally decides to show up. He’s already an hour late. 

Tim refuses to feel disappointed. After all, he was the one who made Stephanie call and set up the tasting, even after she says he’s a chicken shit when it’s obvious Jason is into him. His retort that he just wants to be _in_ him makes her laugh and ask what’s so wrong with that? 

Plenty. 

The Waynes have a reputation for being playboys, which Tim is highly suspect of considering their night jobs. If they slept around nearly as much as the tabloids say they do, there’s no way they’d ever get anything done. Still, it doesn’t mean he intends to become a notch on Jason’s belt, if he was even serious about the comment he left on the sketch in the first place. 

Tim glances at his watch. He’ll give it another fifteen minutes and then close the shop. Normally, he’s open until six, which gives enough time for evening commuters to stop by for a last minute treat before they head home. A couple people wander in and he rings them up, chatting easily all the while. 

Fifteen minutes comes and goes. 

Fine then. Tim locks the door and turns off the open sign. He has other things to do tonight, other customer orders to finish prepping and get ready for tomorrow. If Jason wants to reschedule, he can damn well call and set up a new appointment. 

He has the front of the shop cleaned in no time and is just about to shut off the lights when he hears a tap on the front door. Tim glances over and there’s Jason, dressed in a sharp business suit and plastered rather pitifully against the glass door. He’s giving him a sorrowful look that wouldn’t be out of place on a wet puppy. It’s not exactly a look one associates with a Wayne. Or Redwing. 

“I’m so sorry,” are the first words out of Jason’s mouth when Tim lets him in. “I fucking hate WE business. I can never escape on time.” 

Tim shrugs noncommittally. He sort of gets it, dredging up some memories of his parents and all the hours they worked when they were actually in town. “A phone call would have been appreciated.” 

“I would have, but I don’t have your number. You know, since you never called me back.” Jason winks at he sits down in the too small chair, undoing the knot of his dark red and white striped tie. 

“I have a phone for the bakery. It’s online too,” Tim tries, but Jason laughs him off. 

“Nah, I’d rather have your personal number.” His expression grows absolutely sinful as he rakes his eyes up and down Tim’s lean form. “It’d be nice to have a pastry chef on call. You know, for those late night cravings.” 

There is no mistaking what kind of cravings Jason is talking about. Why is he doing this to him? Tim stiffens, even as he feels the floodgates holding back his blush open wide and color stains his cheeks. 

“I try to keep work and pleasure separate.” With that surprisingly smart remark, he retreats back to the kitchen to get the cakes. 

What is he doing? Now that Jason’s sitting right here in his shop again, Tim’s inner fanboy is screaming at him. This is Jason Wayne sitting out there. _Robin_. _Redwing_. He should be jumping at the chance to crawl into bed with him. Or lay himself out right here in his kitchen on the massive steel prep table and let Jason lick all the frosting he wants directly off his body. He can have some made up fresh in no time. 

No. _No._ Tim draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. He can do this. Keep it professional. This has to be some kind of façade anyway, Jason’s mask to the world to protect his secret. Otherwise, why on earth would someone like Jason Wayne be remotely interested in a baker like Tim? 

Pep talk delivered, Tim takes his three small cakes out of the blast chiller. They haven’t been in there for very long, so they’re not completely frozen through. 

Jason’s eyes light up when he returns. “Those look good.” 

“They taste good too,” Tim replies, setting the small cakes in front of him and handing him a plastic fork and knife. “I only frosted half of them because I want you to try the cake with and without it.” 

“What kind of frosting do you even use with a flavor like this?” Jason asks as he cuts a small slice. 

Tim appreciates the fact that the other man keeps the conversation on business. He starts talking about cream cheese frosting, and doctoring it with almond, vanilla, or even pistachio flavors. All the frosting samples are there too, paired up with what he thinks are the best combinations to compliment the three different spiced chai cakes. 

When he’s done eating, Jason sets down his fork and gives the remains a flummoxed look. “I can’t decide,” he announces. “Each one is delicious.” 

Tim beams with pride. He’d put a lot of work into these, as befitting a high-profile client like the Waynes. “Thank you.” 

“Do you have a preference?” Jason asks. “I really can’t decide and yes, I know that I’m supposed to know the demon brat best, but I think he’d like all three of these. He’s not much for super sweet, which none of these are.” 

“I like this one best,” Tim replies, gesturing to the darker middle cake. “The cake is actually a spin on a carrot cake, which is why it’s so moist. I used sour cream with the cream cheese to cut down on the sweetness.” 

“Sold.” Jason pushes back from the small table and takes his wallet out of his coat pocket. “Let’s talk numbers.”

For all he proclaimed not to like business, Tim found Jason to be on point when it came to haggling. He didn’t try to cut corners though and nodded in agreement at some of the little extras Tim could do, like the candied pistachios that would serve as a good accompaniment for those who did like sweets. The cake itself didn’t need to be very large; it only had to serve about ten people. All in all, it’s an easy order. 

Tim is still slightly disappointed he doesn’t get to show off his creative skills all that much, so he has to make sure his technical skill shines through. It could be what makes or breaks future orders. 

Business complete, Tim takes the remains of the sample cakes into the kitchen to wrap up for Jason to take home with him. 

But rather than staying in the front of the shop, Jason follows after him. He leans against the door, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “So now that work is done, what do you do for pleasure?” 

Tim’s hands freeze on the counter and he avoids Jason’s intent gaze. His eyes are so brilliantly blue… “Well, I still have some work to get done tonight. Not much, but it’ll make my life easier in the morning.” 

“And after?” 

“I’ll go home, make dinner, and probably hop online and play WoW for a little bit before I crash. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and one of my friends will be online and we can do a quest or two together.” Tim doesn’t have much of a life. He knows this. Steph nags him all the time. Ives doesn’t though. He’s a nerd just like Tim and proud of it. 

Tim fiddles with his apron strings, still not looking up at Jason. He senses a change in the air and glances up. Jason is still in the doorway, but the predatory intent is gone. 

He sighs and runs a hand through his wavy hair, obviously frustrated with something. “Tim, I…if I make you uncomfortable, I can stop flirting with you.” 

“Why do you want to flirt with me?” Tim asks before he can stop himself. “I’m a baker. A pastry chef if you want to get really technical. I’m not…you.” He gestures at Jason and his large looming everything. Even dressed in a business suit, it’s plain to see that it’s the man who’s making the suit and not the other way around. 

Jason chuckles as he steps away from the door and cautiously prowls closer. “Why not?” he asks. “At first it was just because I thought you’re cute. And that damn frosting…I couldn’t stop staring at you. But then you didn’t call me back at all and made your assistant do it. She said you were shy, but I don’t think that’s really the case.” He stops before Tim and slowly raises his hand, giving Tim plenty of time to move away from the light caress of his thumb over his bottom lip. “I think you know exactly what you want and are denying yourself, for whatever reason.” 

This is truer than Jason could have guessed. Tim, however, melts under the gentle touch and sucks the tip of Jason’s thumb into his mouth briefly, watching as Jason’s eyes flash with desire. “I am,” he finally replies, suppressing a shiver. He can’t believe he’s about to say this but... “Business before pleasure. And you are still very much business.” 

Jason pouts. He honest to god pouts. “So, when the brat’s birthday is done and over with?” 

“Then I’ll think about it. You could at least buy me dinner first.” 

“Done.”


	3. Chapter 3

A week passes. Tim and Stephanie work their butts off to prepare the Thanksgiving special orders, which consist of Tim’s massively popular apple pie inspired cupcakes. They’re closed for the holiday and Tim enjoys spending the time with his old foster family. Grandma Ives may be slower these days, but she’s still in charge of the kitchen. She does allow Tim to roast the turkey this year, as well as bake the pies for dessert. It’s a good day all around. 

Tim is up early the next morning to start work on Damian Wayne’s birthday cake, along with all his other regular treats. Stephanie had begged the morning off so she could hit the stores for all the holiday sales, but promised to be in before ten. 

His world is nothing but batters for a couple hours, which is just how he likes it. There’s a simplicity in his routine that allows him to think. Right now, his thoughts are on Jason Wayne. 

Jason will stop by this evening to pick up the cake for the party tomorrow. When that cake changes hands, their business is complete. Tim highly doubts they’re going to have dinner together tonight, but he wonders when they will. It then leads him to think about what will happen after. 

Because Jason has made no bones about the fact that he wants him. Wants _him_ , Tim Drake. The thought still makes him quaver in excitement because this is his hero, his Robin, his Redwing, who wants him in his bed. Or, more realistically, Tim’s bed, which he’s more than okay with. He makes a note on his phone to change his bedsheets. 

It’s been a while since Tim has had sex with someone. Thinking back, he was still at the restaurant, so that makes it...He frowns when he comes up with three years. Well, he’s been busy. 

He’s also under no illusions that whatever it is Jason wants from him will last more than a single night. Two, if he’s lucky. It’s not like they’re friends or even dating. This is about mutual desire between two adults. 

Right? 

Tim nods firmly and spoons batter into the cupcake molds to bake. It can’t be anything else. Jason is part of a world that Tim can only ever dream about. His world is right here, in this small kitchen. 

His phone chimes. Picking it up, he’s expecting a text from Steph. But no, it’s Jason (because of course he programed the number into his phone, even if he made Stephanie call to set up the tasting appointment). 

_I don’t work today, so I’ll be on time. ;)_

Tim glances at the clock. It’s barely eight in the morning. Jason is up early. He supposes even Batman and his birds take a night off for a holiday. 

_I’ll hold you to that. I don’t stay open late for just anyone._  

His phone chimes almost instantly with a response. 

_If you close after I arrive, I promise to make it worth your while._  

A shiver runs down Tim’s spine and he has to adjust his jeans as his cock twitches in anticipation. Visions of Jason right here in his kitchen, his pants open while Tim kneels and swallows him down, dance before his eyes. 

No. Business first. And dinner. He refuses to be that easy. 

Tim glances around the kitchen and all the work he still has to get done. Without Steph here, he’s running behind already. Lunch will be a dream… 

_As long as food is involved, then you’re on. I gave Steph the morning off and I’ve got a lot to do._  

The phone doesn’t chime immediately, so Tim puts it down and gets back to work. It’s only after the current batch of cupcakes are in the oven that he hears a text alert. 

_I’ll bring dinner. See you at five._  

Tim is still wearing his dopey smile a couple hours later when Stephanie arrives. 

~*~*~ 

The cake comes out perfectly. Tim went with a three-pointed star design and hollowed out the middle, drawing from the brief history lesson he indulged in when looking up pictures online to make sure his design is accurate. He tinted the frosting black and then finished it off with a mirror glaze to give it a shine. 

It turns out so well, Tim grabs his camera to take some pictures and post them on his website later. Artists have a portfolio, so does he. 

Stephanie high-fives him when he’s done. “That looks incredible, Tim. If we don’t get repeat orders from the Waynes in the future, then they’re crazy.” 

Tim beams with pride. “Thanks, Steph. Let’s get this boxed up and in the chiller. Jason’s not supposed to be here for another couple hours to pick it up.” 

“I hope he picks you up too.” Steph winks as she goes to grab one of their delivery boxes. 

“I told him I need actual food first before I put out.” Tim’s stomach takes that moment to growl, reminding him of the lunch he didn’t get to eat today. Steph did bring him a breakfast bagel when she arrived, so he’s not completely starved. 

His friend laughs. “Good for you! I want to hear all about it tomorrow.” 

Tim isn’t sure how much he’ll tell Stephanie, but that’s a question to ponder later. She soon heads out with the truck, leaving him to deal with customers. 

It’s a busy day and time flies. The shop is actually full when Jason arrives a little early with two large plastic bags full of something yummy that he can smell from behind the counter. Jason smirks at him as he takes a place up against the wall and waits. 

The man is patient, Tim will grant him that as he finally shoos the last of the customers out of the shop, locks the door, and turns off his sign. “Hi,” he says a little breathlessly, leaning against the glass door behind him. “It’s been a busy day.” 

Jason smiles one of those real smiles that reaches his eyes. “I can tell. You hungry?” 

“Is the sky blue?” 

“Not in Gotham.” 

Tim laughs and gestures at Jason to follow him into the clean kitchen. 

“I made lasagna,” Jason announces, setting his bags down on the massive prep table and removing an actual casserole dish. “I figured it’s hard to go wrong with meat, cheese, and pasta.” 

It takes a moment for Tim’s brain to compute. “You _made_ lasagna?” 

“Yup. You’re not the only one who knows his way around a kitchen.” Jason looks proud of himself as he presents the dish to Tim. “There’s garlic bread too.” 

Words are escaping Tim at the moment, but his stomach chooses this moment to grumble loudly. Jason _cooked_ for _him_. It means a hell of a lot more than going out for dinner. He mentally reassesses his previous estimate of how long this little whatever it is will last. 

Tim tries not to fall onto the food like a ravenous beast, but it’s close. Jason laughs at him while bringing out a bottle of red wine. “I will admit to calling Alfred and asking what kind of wine pairs best with a hearty lasagna.” 

He breaks out of beast mode to inspect the bottle of Sangiovese. It’s been years since he’s seen a bottle like this. “I hope you brought glasses because all I have are measuring cups.” 

Jason takes out some plastic cups. “Not exactly classy, I know.” 

“Does it look like I’m judging?” 

They spend the better part of an hour right there in the kitchen, eating and talking, and drinking more wine than they probably should. Tim loves every second of it. Jason tells funny stories about his life and family, ones Tim is pretty sure are real and not just part of a cover. In turn, he shares some stories about his early years back when he was still the son of a rich businessman. 

“I knew your name was familiar,” Jason says when Tim reveals that little tidbit. “That was big news at the time. I remember Bruce going to the funeral.” 

Tim remembers seeing him there, but keeps his mouth shut and sips more wine instead. “I miss my parents, I really do. However, I can’t see myself being this happy if they’d lived. I was supposed to take over Drake Industries and be the perfect little son and heir.” 

Jason nods in understanding. “I get it. I really do. You’d probably understand the shit I have to deal with at WE better than I do, raised as you were.” 

“Who can say?” Tim replies with a shrug. “I’m at least business savvy, that’s for sure. I work hard at something I enjoy doing. There’s not a lot of people who can say that.” 

“True enough.” Jason sets aside his cup and glances at his phone. “Not to change the topic, but there’s something I want to do tonight, so I need to wrap up our business before I can get to it.” 

Tim’s heart sinks a little, but when he sees what time it is, he understands. It’s almost seven. Jason, no, _Redwing_ , has to hit the streets soon. The wine doesn’t seem to be affecting Jason at all, which is patently unfair because Tim is a lightweight at best. 

He takes the cakebox out of the cooler and sets it on the prep table. Turning the box around, Tim opens the lid and presents it to Jason. 

“That is fucking awesome,” he pronounces after he stares at it for a moment. “It looks even better than I thought it would.”

“Thanks,” Tim replies with a grin. “I think so too. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m adding some photos of this cake to my online portfolio. No names, of course.” 

“I’d be sad if you didn’t.” Jason closes the lid and takes out his wallet to settle the final bill. Tim processes the payment out front and brings the tablet to the kitchen where he finds most of their dinner mess has been cleaned up. All that’s left out is the wine and the cups, with Jason leaning against the table next to them. Even the cake is gone. 

“Where’s everything?” he asks, looking around. 

“Fridge.” Jason takes the tablet and signs his name with a broad sweep of his finger. He sets it aside and gives Tim a hooded look. “Would you say our business is complete?” he asks in a low tone that has Tim instantly paying attention. 

“I would agree with that.” 

“Good.” Jason crooks his finger and Tim steps closer, his heart beating faster in anticipation. 

“I thought you had something to do tonight,” Tim says, taking another step and crossing into what is very definitely Jason’s personal bubble. 

“I do.” Jason reaches out and drags Tim closer, parting his knees to allow him to slide in between those gloriously muscled thighs. “I was thinking about doing you. Taking you apart right here where you work your magic.” 

This close to Jason, Tim can make out tiny imperfections on his skin. Faint scars dot his face, as well as a few freckles. They’re lost under the sheer intensity of Jason’s eyes, bluish-green staring right into his own pale blue orbs. Tim swallows and wraps his arms around Jason’s neck. “Just make sure I can walk tomorrow morning. I still have to work.” 

Jason scowls as he clearly tries to readjust his plans. “I can’t persuade you to take the day off?” 

“I’m only closed on Mondays. Weekends are my busiest time.” 

“I can work with that.” Jason’s breath is warm as he grips Tim’s hips and pulls him flush against his large body. Tim tries not to whine at the press of all the solid muscle. He’s doing it. He’s really about to kiss Jason, to do other things with him, things that have his cock filling in his pants, something he knows Jason can feel because his is doing the same. 

Tim can’t say which of them closes the distance between their lips, but he knows he’s the one who mewls into it, more desperate and needy than he wants to admit. Jason takes advantage of the slight opening and skillfully teases his tongue inside, mapping out the corners of Tim’s mouth. He makes a pleased sound as Tim falls against him, one of his hands dropping to Tim’s ass and squeezing. 

Hands start moving, pushing clothes aside to reveal warm skin. Jason has Tim’s apron off in seconds and tugs his shirt up and over his head just as quickly. The break of their mouths gives Tim a moment of clarity, and when the shirt is gone, he falls upon Jason’s neck, licking and nipping at his throat. Jason gasps when he finds a sensitive spot, which makes Tim redouble his efforts. He tastes Jason on his tongue, breathes in his scent. It’s clear he’s wearing what’s no doubt an expensive cologne, but underneath, Tim makes out the different scents that are uniquely Jason – rich and musky with the faintest hint of salt as he perspires in the warm kitchen. 

It’s addicting. 

So engrossed is he in exploring Jason’s neck, Tim completely misses Jason unbuckling his jeans and popping open the button. What he doesn’t miss is the way the man pulls the zipper down oh-so-carefully over his hard flesh. Tim hisses at the freedom from the constraints, which has Jason chuckling in his ear. “I told you when we met that I want to taste you. Let me?” 

Jason on his knees with his mouth wrapped out his cock? Yes, please. Tim nods eagerly. Fuck, this is a dream come true. What did he do to deserve this? Oh, right. He baked a cake. 

They shift around, and Jason kneels on the hard floor. His eyes burn with need, locking on Tim as he slowly drags his pants and boxers down over his thighs. Jason splays his hands wide over Tim’s hips and nuzzles at the soft, heated skin. Never once does he break eye contact. 

“When I’m done here, I gonna lay you out on this table and fuck you until the only word you know is my name.” 

“Promise?” Tim breathes. 

“Promise.” Jason licks a stripe up Tim’s length, base to tip, and swallows him down in one smooth motion. 

Tim swears he’s about to lose his mind. Jason’s mouth is an inferno, his tongue and lips working in conjunction with his throat to create the perfect storm of manic energy that seeps into every inch of Tim’s being. A hand falls to Jason’s head and he tugs at the slightly tamed black hair. Jason moans around him, encouraging him grab hold tighter. He’s no stranger to blowjobs, but whatever Jason is doing causes Tim to forget exactly what he’s trying to remember. All he can do is focus on the man before him. 

Jason Wayne. _Redwing_. Oh, God…Tim’s mind shatters and he keens out a warning before spilling down Jason’s throat. Gasping, Tim grasps the edge of the table to keep from falling to the floor. Never before has he ever had such a powerful release. 

Strong hands help him stay upright. Tim blinks rapidly and Jason is suddenly right there, his mouth once again pressed against his own. He tastes himself on Jason’s tongue and it’s enough to make him claw wildly at his broad shoulders. 

“Christ, are you always like this?” Jason manages to get out, tonguing his along Tim’s jaw. “You’re a wildcat under this pretty façade, Timmers.” 

Tim gasps as Jason finds a sensitive spot behind his ear. “Not usually. More like pent up. It’s been awhile.”

“That so? Maybe I should be a little more gentle with you then.” 

“Don’t you even dare,” Tim growls out warningly. 

Jason’s reply is lost under the ringing of his phone. He withdraws just enough to tug it out of his pocket and glare at the screen before silencing the ringer. “Dickie always has the worst timing.” 

Tim agrees wholeheartedly. Jason returns to his neck and sucking a mark there. 

The phone rings again. Jason growls viciously as he tears himself away. This time, he answers it. “You better have a good reason for calling, Dickface. I said I was busy tonight.” 

Whatever Dick says has Jason’s scowl grow even larger. “Of fucking course. And just when I get a night off too.” 

Tim sighs, already knowing their plans have been derailed by whatever is happening out on the streets. Duty calls. He starts tugging his clothes back up where they belong as Jason curses a blue streak and hangs up on his brother.

“Listen, Tim. I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go. There’s an emergency and…” He looks and sounds so apologetic, but Tim isn’t mad. How can he be when Jason’s the one who’s the hero? 

“I know.” He stands on his toes and presses a gentle kiss against Jason’s lips. “Raincheck?” 

Jason does him one better and slams Tim against the prep table, devouring every inch of his mouth. He falls backwards, and Jason follows him down, not breaking contact at all. Tim yelps as his bare skin hits the cold metal, which makes Jason laugh loudly. 

“Raincheck,” he agrees reluctantly, pressing a kiss in the hollow of Tim’s neck. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

Tim nods and kisses him one last time. “Don’t forget the cake.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some action! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Plot!

Jason doesn’t call on Saturday. Tim isn’t surprised, not with the news headline he saw the night before about Scarecrow on the loose. He does what any normal Gothamite does and goes about his business. Most of the time, the spooks only come out to play at night, so it doesn’t bother him any. Tim can’t help but wonder if the Bats had a chance to celebrate Damian’s birthday in the midst of all the chaos; he feels kind of bad for the kid. 

He doesn’t hear from Jason on Sunday either. When he gets home, Tim collapses on his sofa and checks his phone again for any updates. There hasn’t been any news about collateral damage or deaths, so he can only assume everyone is okay. 

Is this what it’s like for all those who care about one of Gotham’s heroes? Not just in a general sense but a literal one? He _knows_ who they are under those masks and now he has a personal connection to them. The danger they all face on a nightly basis hits home. If something were to happen to Jason, the only way Tim will find out is via the news. He’s not anybody to the Waynes. 

He’s barely somebody to Jason. 

It’s a sobering thought, one that sticks with Tim through the night. By morning, he’s cranky from lack of sleep and attacks his coffee with gusto. There’s still nothing from Jason and Tim doesn’t want to risk sending him a text for fear of accidently waking him up from some well-deserved sleep. He goes about his normal Monday routine and does laundry, grocery shopping, and house cleaning. Not that there’s much to clean as he spends more time at the bakery than he does here, but whatever. He even changes his bedsheets, telling himself firmly it’s because they need to be washed and not because he’s expecting company in the near future. 

Whenever that will be. 

As Tim eats dinner, a news alert pops up on his phone to inform him that the Scarecrow is back in custody. A knot of tension he didn’t even realize was there relaxes. There’s no news about who was involved in his arrest, but he wants to believe that no one has been injured. It’s not like he can call and ask. 

Worrying is exhausting so Tim decides to try and get some sleep. As he lays down, his phone chimes. Picking it up, a flood of relief washes through him. 

It’s Jason. 

_Hey. I’m so sorry about not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a shitstorm of drama around here the last few days._  

Tim appreciates a text from someone who uses full sentences. He appreciates even more the fact that Jason is letting him know in a backdoor kind of way that he’s okay. 

_It happens. Everything okay?_  

_Yeah. Finally. Damian liked his cake._

_Good, I’m glad._  

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so Tim set his phone down. He’s on the cusp of entering dreamland when it chimes softly again. 

_When can I see you again?_  

The message flashes on the screen but Tim is already asleep. 

~*~*~ 

The next morning, Tim is up early and at the bakery to accept his weekly supply order. These are all his standard ingredients, but he’s got extra chocolate and cocoa powder in this one, plus peppermint extract as he’ll be starting his Christmas cupcakes this week. He’s also got a couple bottles of bourbon and rum to experiment with because he wants to try an eggnog cupcake this year. 

Everything has been put away when there’s a loud knock on his front door. Tim glances at his watch. It’s way too early to be open. He pokes his head out of the kitchen to see who’s there. 

It’s another deliveryman. 

Tim crosses the room and unlocks the door. “Good morning.” 

“Mornin’!” the man replies cheerily. “You Tim Drake?” 

“Yes, unless I’m getting a bill for something,” he jokes. 

The deliveryman laughs. “It doesn’t look like it,” he replies. “I just need a signature.” 

Tim signs for the package and brings it inside, pausing long enough to lock the door again behind him. 

What is this? He eyes the label carefully (this is Gotham after all and the Scarecrow had been loose this last weekend even though it’s usually the Joker’s MO to send random packages). The return address is somewhere in Bristol. Not exactly a zip code known for trouble. 

Opening the box, Tim gapes. It’s a fruit basket of sorts. Specifically, a box full of some beautiful Bosc pears. The gears spin as he tries to figure out what to do with them. He did get that rum after all… 

He almost misses the note that falls out. Picking it up, Tim starts laughing. 

_I know, I know. A fruit basket is lame, but Alfie said a chef like you would appreciate this more than flowers. Please, don’t be mad at me._

Tim takes the pears back to the kitchen and pulls out his phone. Only then does he see the message he missed last night. It all makes sense now. He sends a message to Jason. 

_I didn’t see your last message until just now. I’m rarely awake past nine since I’m at the bakery by five most mornings. The pears are gorgeous, thank you! You really didn’t have to._

It is too early to expect a response, but he figures Jason deserves to wake up to one after he apparently dropped the ball last night. 

He doesn’t receive a reply until after Stephanie arrives a few hours later and has laughed herself silly over the box. 

_You never answered my question._  

Tim bites his lip as he’s really not sure how to respond. 

Steph flicks his ear. “You’re thinking too hard about this. It’s sex. You want it with him and he wants it with you. Just go for it.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

The door chime rings out as a customer enters the shop. “Dammit,” Stephanie swears since she’s on counter duty at the moment. “Hold that thought so I can knock it out of your head.” 

While his friend takes care of the customers out front, Tim ponders what she’d said. It is just sex. He’s overanalyzing it. A fruit box means nothing, other than the fact Jason thinks he screwed up. And they’re really nice pears… 

Stephanie wordlessly enters the kitchen and closes the door firmly behind her, her eyes a little wild. 

“What?” Tim asks, setting down a pear. 

“Tim, you’ve got some clients. Some rather _VIP_ clients.” 

He doesn’t miss the emphasis. “Who?” 

She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know who the guy in the wheelchair is, but I know what Bruce Wayne looks like.” 

Tim grips the edge of the steel prep table tightly. Bruce Wayne. Holy hell, _Batman_ is in his shop. His inner fanboy doesn’t know whether to scream for joy or hide in terror. “Fuck.” 

Steph nods, her eyes still wide. “The man in the wheelchair asked for you by name. He’s got a British accent and seems to be the one in charge.” 

“And Mr. Wayne?” 

“Gaping at the display case.” 

Tim remembers Brucie Wayne from the few society parties he attended before his parents died. He always wondered why such man hid behind such a vapid persona, but it eventually occurred to him that it’s really the perfect disguise. Who in their right minds would associate the airheaded Bruce Wayne with the cunning detective Batman? 

“Right.” Tim draws a deep breath, steeling himself. “Okay, I can do this.” 

“Think it’s more business?” Stephanie asks while Tim takes the time to wash his hands. He’s not about to meet Batman with frosting stained fingers like he had Redwing. 

“I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t be. Unless Jason has been talking about…you know.” 

Steph snorts and tries to hide it behind her hand, which only makes her do it again. “Yeah, I doubt it. Not exactly a conversation someone has with their family. _Hey, you know this amazing cake I got? I blew the baker!”_  

Tim doubles over at the sink laughing. “Shhh! They’ll hear you!” 

No, he really doesn’t want Batman to know his son got in his pants. Or that he has plans to fuck him silly sometime soon. Shit, who is he kidding? This is _Batman_. He probably already knows. Tim can feel the heat on the back of his neck and can only hope it’s not on his face. 

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and walks out front, Steph’s giggles trailing after him. 

The man in the wheelchair with the massive cast on one foot is Alfred Pennyworth. Tim remembers meeting him few times as a child. He’d sneak him lemon tarts after his mother said no more sweets. Bruce isn’t in sight, but when Tim comes around the counter, he spots him kneeling in front of his display case, eyes wide and incredibly vapid, the Brucie act on in full force. 

Good lord, the man deserves an Oscar. 

“Hello,” Tim says politely. “I’m Tim. My assistant said you wanted to speak with me?” 

“I do indeed,” Alfred replies and holds out his hand. “It’s been a number of years since we’ve last spoken, Mr. Drake, but I’m –” 

“Alfred Pennyworth, master of the lemon tarts,” Tim grins as he shakes the old man’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.” 

“I always remember wide eyed little boys who wax poetic over my food rather than filling their cheeks and running off.” There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eyes. “When Master Jason informed me of who he’d hired to make Master Damian’s birthday cake, I knew we were in good hands.” 

Tim is floored. The old man’s words give him the impression that he’s had more than just the spiced chai cake he’d made for them. “Thank you,” he manages to get out. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” 

“It was really good!” Bruce chimes in as he stands up fully. He towers over Tim and reaches out to shake his hand too, albeit with more enthusiasm than is really necessary. Tim tries not to stare or crumble to the floor because he’s shaking hands with _Batman_. His inner fanboy is screaming right now, deciding on equal parts terror and joy because Brucie Wayne is disturbing on so many levels. “But that’s not why we’re here. Tell him, Alfie.” 

Alfred’s expression sours slightly. “As you can see, Mr. Drake, I am laid up at the moment and my charges are insisting I take it easy for the duration of the holidays. While I am able to delegate much of my work in the kitchen to Master Jason and ensure everyone is fed properly, he is no pastry chef. It is that skillset I have need of.” 

Tim narrows his eyes slightly. He’s not sure where this is going. “Are you looking to hire me for something, Mr. Pennyworth?” 

“I am. In about two and half weeks, Master Bruce hosts the Wayne Foundation’s annual Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor. Normally, I, along with some assistance from Master Jason, prepare all the holiday treats for the children who come up from various shelters in the city. Due to my accident, I am unable to perform my duties.” Alfred’s gimlet eye is watching Tim intently. “After the success of Master Damian’s cake, I decided I would very much like to hire you for this event. I know it is short notice…” 

Tim doesn’t hear much of what is said after that, such is his shock over what is being asked of him. He wants to say yes so badly, but he’s got his responsibilities here and orders are piling up for the holidays and... 

“Mr. Drake?” 

“Sorry, got lost in my head there for a second.” Tim shakes himself out of it. “Just trying to figure out the logistics of it. This is my busiest time of year and after next week, I won’t take a day off until after the New Year.” 

“You’ll be well paid, if that’s a concern,” Bruce states. “What’s your price?” 

Tim forces the brief scowl he let slip off his face and tries to go for something more neutral. “It’s not about the money, Mr. Wayne. It’s about the time. How large is this event?” 

“About 250 children are brought to Wayne Manor,” Alfred replies. “Along with a parent or chaperone. Guests are made up of donors. A typical event is about 600 to 700 people.” 

It’s hard not to gape. “And you do this every year on your own?” 

“Many of the treats I serve freeze well, so I can make them in batches over the course of a few weeks. The rest is catered.” 

Tim asks a few more questions, trying to gain a better understanding of what exactly he would be doing. Most caterers have months to prepare for something like this and here he is expected to pull several rabbits out of his hat in the space of a few weeks. 

In the end, he knows he only has one answer to this business proposition. “Yes,” he tells Alfred. “I’ll do it.” 

“Excellent, Mr. Drake. I look forward to working with you.” Alfred beams as he shakes Tim’s hand, sealing the deal. 

“And I look forward to more cupcakes!” Bruce replies all too brightly. “I think I’d like a half dozen now. I picked one out for each of us!” He turns his attention back to the display case and starts pointing at different ones and rattling off the reasons why he thinks each cupcake is perfect for each of his children, plus himself and Alfred. 

When they leave, Tim is utterly exhausted and a little taken aback by just how thorough the Brucie Wayne act is. It’s been well over a decade since he’s seen it and never once was it ever directly focused on him. He retreats to the kitchen and stomps into his tiny office where he collapses in his chair. Blindly, he reaches out and grabs his stress ball. 

“Well?” Stephanie asks, trailing after him. “What did they want?” 

“We’re catering the annual Wayne Foundation Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor in three weeks. About 700 people.” 

“Son of a bitch. Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

“Well, crapnuggets.” Tim knows without even opening his eyes that his friend and assistant is stewing over things, just like he did. “We’re going to have to close the shop that week just to get everything prepped in time. Maybe I can take out the truck in the evening…” 

“We’ll have full use of the industrial kitchen at Wayne Manor starting two days before. I have to send an ingredient list to Mr. Pennyworth by the end of the week to ensure everything we need is there.” 

“Will Jason be there too?” There’s a teasing lilt to Steph’s voice that has Tim finally cracking open an eye. 

“I have no idea. I don’t see why he would be. We’re just hired help.” 

Steph laugh tells him exactly what she thinks about that. “Perhaps to the rest of them, but those industrial kitchens have walk-in coolers, right? I can just see Jason wandering in and dragging you into one for a _private_ chat.” 

Tim throws his stress ball at her. 

~*~*~ 

Stephanie leaves to get an early lunch for them and Tim promptly closes the shop. He has too much to think about and interruptions from an occasional customer won’t help. 

He starts going through his calendar and relaxes a little. There are not as many special cake orders as he originally thought. They’re almost all Yule logs too and are slated for pick up on Christmas Eve. Everything else is cupcakes, including one massive order of a hundred that’s for a large holiday party the week after the charity event. 

Still, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he knows he’ll be bombarded with random orders for a dozen or more of his holiday cupcakes, particularly if he introduces the eggnog one, which he started the test batter for already. If anything, having some booze around the bakery will help calm his nerves. 

Or leave him drunk, which is a bad idea, lightweight that he is. 

He picks up his notepad and starts sketching out designs and possible holiday-themed flavor profiles, ones geared for both kids and adults. The easiest thing to do is modify existing recipes, but he wants to make the decorations extra special to show off his skills. This may be a last minute change of plans for the Waynes, but if he manages to impress them (especially Alfred), he could get other jobs from them later on. 

Perhaps a spun sugar cage over the top of the eggnog cupcake would look nice. The dark gold of the caramelized sugar would contrast nicely against the nutmeg and cinnamon flecked whipped cream frosting… 

His phone rings. Idly, Tim swipes at the screen to answer it, not even looking to see who it is. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” Jason’s deep voice greets him. “I thought it might be easier to call instead of wait for you to check your phone again.” 

“Sorry. It’s been one of those mornings where I’m being constantly interrupted,” Tim replies somewhat sourly. “Do you know what your dad just did?” 

Jason groans, frustration evident even through the phone. “That does not sound good.” 

“I should say it was him and Mr. Pennyworth. They were here in the shop a little bit ago.” 

“Oh, shit. Alfie did it, didn’t he? He sorta mentioned offhand about making you a job offer, but I didn’t think he’d go through with it.” 

Tim leans back in his office chair. “Yep, he did. I’m now the official pastry chef for the upcoming charity gala at your house.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Jason swears some more and then asks a very important question. “Am I being relegated to business again?” 

A sharp laugh escapes Tim before he can stop it. “Maybe? I’m going to be very busy these next few weeks.” 

Jason chuckles, an absolutely wonderful sound even over the phone. “All jokes aside, are you going to have enough time for everything?” 

“I’m figuring that out right now. Making lists and deadlines for myself.” 

“Can I help at all?” There’s a hopeful lilt to Jason’s voice. 

“What?” Tim asks, blinking wildly. 

“Help. I’m not exactly clueless in the kitchen. I help Alfie all the time. I may not be a trained chef like you, but I can follow a recipe and listen to instructions.” 

It’s tempting. Very tempting. Even if he can just direct Jason on how to make some of his basic batters and get things in the oven, it would free up Steph to work on normal orders and give him the time to get fancy. “How fast can you get a food handler’s card?” 

“I already have one. Still current too.” 

“You’re hired. I pay dick compared to what you’re probably used to though.” 

“You pay in dick? I accept.” 

“Jason!”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Is he always like this?”

Tim can hear Jason talking quietly to Steph, but he ignores them in favor of tempering his chocolate.

“When he’s in the zone, yeah. This is what genius at work looks like around here.”

“Looks like a hot mess to me.” 

“Yeah. We should probably feed him soon.” 

Tim glances over at them. They’re huddled next to each other at the prep table, an abandoned piping bag lying between them. Jason has been learning how to frost cupcakes. 

Even with the extra hands, Tim is still fairly certain he’s not going to be able to take a full day off on Monday like he originally planned. Sure, he has no plans to open the bakery or run the truck, but his last relaxing day off for the remainder of the year has gone _poof_ under the strain of prepping for the Wayne event. 

Still, it’s hard to believe Jason is here in his kitchen, and so early in the day to boot. The man must be living on caffeine if he made it here a little after nine this morning. Heroes don’t have early nights, Tim is positive of it. 

He also thinks it’s a travesty that Jason looks so damn good in his snug t-shirt and the white apron Stephanie immediately pressed on him when he arrived earlier. Tim has been trying very hard not to think about asking Jason to wear just the apron when they’re alone. All that firm muscle on display, for him to stare at, and touch, and maybe smear with some of this chocolate and lick… 

Chocolate. He needs to focus on his chocolate. Tim whisks faster and ignores the snickers behind him. 

Only after he’s done and his carefully poached pears have a perfect chocolate glaze coating them does Jason approach. Tim notes that he leaves some space between them, which helps settle his racing heart. “We’re ordering lunch. Got a taste for anything?” 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say _you_. Tim swallows it back. “Whatever is fine. Steph knows what I like.” 

“But I don’t. Tell me?” Jason asks, a hopeful look on his face that gives a boyish cast to his features. 

The niggling thought about what Jason wants from him comes back to the forefront of Tim’s mind. He does his best to squash it back where it belongs; for once in his life, he’s living in the moment (because damn, this won’t last). “Deli sandwiches,” Tim finally announces. “Chinese, dim sum specifically. Pho. Spring rolls. Love sushi when I can afford it. Pizza when I’m being lazy.” 

Jason is watching him intently, but then he smiles and reaches out to trace a finger along Tim’s cheek, just like he did the day they met. This time, his finger comes back brown. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you last week, but I like the way you taste.” He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth. 

Tim is pretty sure someone needs to call the fire department because his face is all ablaze from Jason’s words. “Uhh…” 

The taller man winks and ruffles Tim’s hair as he walks back to the now hysterically laughing Stephanie. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance soon enough.” 

This was a bad idea. Really bad. There’s no way this is going to end well. 

~*~*~ 

Holy shit, this is the best idea Tim has ever had in his life. 

Steph left with the truck for the evening run about ten minutes ago. Jason helped her load up and when he returned inside, he locked the door, turned off the open sign, and dragged Tim into the kitchen. 

“Christ, I need you now,” he’d breathed, crowding Tim against the worktable and devouring his mouth. 

Tim has no complaints about this, even if his spine is making some noises about not liking the position he’s in. But Jason seems to understand as he lowers Tim onto the table, nibbling at his throat. His free hand drags down to the hem of his t-shirt and works its way under to touch skin. Tim moans and wraps his legs around Jason’s waist, drawing him even closer. He gasps as he feels the solid length of Jason’s cock against his own, even through too many layers of clothes. 

Jason is all heat, pressed up against him as he is. Tim scrambles at his shoulders, tugging lightly at his shirt. Under the florescent lights of the kitchen, he’s not sure Jason will want his body and what is sure to be some wicked scars on display, so he doesn’t push. He’ll take whatever he can get and remember these moments for the rest of his life. 

Because it won’t last. It can’t. 

Tim mewls as Jason tugs his apron off and drags his shirt up. His tongue is soon licking paths up Tim’s bare chest, circling but not quite touching his nipples. He can feel them pebble in anticipation. “Stop teasing,” he growls and rocks his hips against Jason’s pointedly. 

“Who’s teasing? I want to lick every inch of you.” Jason’s breath is warm against Tim’s chest and there’s the tongue swiping across one of his sensitive buds, followed by teeth scraping against it. 

Tim bucks wildly. It’s as though there’s a live wire between his chest and his cock and he needs out of his jeans _now_. Damn, he knows he’s sensitive there, but never has a partner made him feel like this.

Then again, none of those partners have been _Redwing_. 

Jason switches sides and fumbles for Tim’s belt. He curses a moment when it catches and Tim bats his hand away to do it himself. They draw apart long enough for Tim to kick off his shoes and shimmy out of his pants. Jason rips his own apron off and unbuckles his belt. Just as Tim suspected he might, he leaves his shirt on. 

Tim watches with baited breath as Jason unzips his fly and shoves his faded jeans and a black pair of boxer briefs over his hips. He smirks as Tim stares and strokes himself a few times. “See something you want?” 

“Yes,” Tim replies heatedly. He doesn’t exactly care where at the moment either, but Jason did tell him earlier that he could taste so…Tim slides off the table and kneels on the cold floor, eyeing the thick cock before his eyes. Ever so gently, he rests his hands on those thighs that have had his attention for two weeks now and drags his tongue up the base to the head of the hard length in front of him. He tongues the slit gently, teasingly, and closes his mouth, enveloping Jason’s cock with his lips. 

Jason immediately drops a hand to Tim’s hair and starts tugging. The other is somewhere behind him, probably on the table as Jason bends over slightly and the angle suddenly becomes easier for Tim to take. “That’s it, Tim. I know you can take it. Lemme fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” 

Someone has a filthy mouth and never before has Tim found it attractive until now. Jason can say all the dirty things he wants because it’s only driving him higher and closer to his own end. He groans loudly at a particularly rough yank of his hair and digs his fingers into Jason’s thighs. 

“Fuck, Tim. God, I’ve wanted to see your mouth wrapped around my cock since the moment I met you.” 

Really? Tim redoubles his efforts and relaxes his throat as he takes in the last and thickest inches. He fights against his gag reflex briefly while he bobs his head, but it’s of no matter when he swallows again, his nose brushing against the dark hair at the base of Jason’s dick. 

Tim can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. It’s been awhile since he’s done this, and Jason seems to appreciate his efforts as he strokes his hair. “That’s it, my pretty boy. You did it. Look at you, gorgeous as a fucking picture. You were made to take my cock, weren’t you?” 

His mouth is full, so all Tim can do is moan. It causes Jason’s hips to rock forward involuntarily. Tim’s eyes water at the aborted thrust, but he chases it back down his throat and swallows hard around the head of Jason’s cock. 

“Jesus, shit,” Jason swears again. “You like this, huh? Want me to fuck this pretty little mouth of yours?” 

Tim moans again and runs his hands up Jason’s denim clad thighs to grasp his bare hips. The feel of Jason’s skin under his fingers makes him whine and his own neglected length to bob against his abdomen. God, he’s doing it. He’s really doing it. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jason starts slowly, carefully rocking his hips back and forth against Tim’s mouth. Tim can feel his eyes burning into him from above, watching every little movement he makes and judging if it’s enough. 

Tim is not in the mood for gentle. He pulls off and glares crossly at him. “I thought you were going to fuck my mouth. I’m not going to break.” 

Damn, is that his voice? It’s never sounded so rough before. 

Jason seems to agree as he wordlessly hauls Tim to his feet and chases into Tim’s mouth with his tongue, delving deep to taste the little bit of himself within. Just as quickly, he withdraws. “You think you can take me?” Jason challenges, his blue eyes blazing with their intensity. “Let’s see.” 

Tim is back on his knees a moment later, falling onto Jason’s cock like a starving man. The brief reprieve helped the ache in his jaw, but it returns as soon as Jason is firmly seated in his mouth again and thrusting hard. Tim ignores it and lets Jason set his pace. His eyes water again and Jason yanks his hair even harder than before. 

Good god, it’s rough and his mouth is going to be sore as hell later, but Tim does not care in the slightest. Still, there’s only so much he can take, so perhaps there’s something he can do to speed this along. 

He manages to dampen a finger in the slick spit and precome dribbling down onto Jason’s balls. Using his other hand, Tim shoves Jason’s briefs down further. Then, in a bold move, he reaches behind the man and drags the wet finger over Jason’s hole. It spasms under his touch and Jason shouts. 

“Jesus! Fuck…” he drags out the word as he comes in heated spurts down Tim’s throat. 

Tim swallows reflexively the first time, but the second wave catches him by surprise as Jason slips out of his mouth. The taste is bitter on his tongue, but he swallows again. He drags in a deep breath, finally able to draw a full one now that his mouth isn’t so full. 

Jason is sucking in air like he’d just finished running a marathon. “Christ, Tim. You’re incredible.” He helps Tim back to his feet and runs a finger over the corner of his mouth, dabbing away a little bit himself and bringing it to his own mouth. Tim watches the finger eagerly, which has Jason laugh. “Seriously, you know the number of people who can do that to me?” 

Tim doesn’t want to know, not really. 

“Nil. Until you.” 

Oh. 

“You and your perfect little mouth. That pink tongue of yours…” Jason kisses him again, slowly, sensuously, licking into Tim’s mouth and relearning every inch of it. He draws him close against his body and both are suddenly reminded that Tim still hasn’t come yet. 

Jason reaches down and encircles Tim’s weeping length with a callused hand, not breaking his kiss as he does. 

Tim wants to shout. To yell. He wants whatever Jason is willing to give him so that he can hold it close for when he inevitably leaves. Memories of Jason’s crooked smile, the passion in his eyes, and the touch of his hands, all are snapshots in Tim’s mind, ready and waiting to be replayed in the future. Jason stokes him hard, harder than he usually likes it, but Tim is so keyed up he can’t give a damn. He’s so close, right there on the edge… 

He comes all over Jason’s hand just as the annoying ring of a phone breaks the heated silence of the kitchen. 

It’s not Tim’s phone, thank god. He pants hard, leaning against Jason, and tries to catch his breath. There’s a low rumble coming from Jason’s chest as he growls and fumbles for his phone with his clean hand. 

“I swear to fuck, Dickieboy, someone better be dead or dying.” 

This time, Tim is close enough he can barely make out Dick Grayson’s voice, but thankfully no actual words. He trembles slightly and hopes Jason thinks it’s simply an aftershock from their rather intense encounter. 

“You piece of shit,” Jason snarls in response. He still hasn’t let go of Tim, even though his grip has loosened. “Alfie could have texted me that.” 

Another muffled murmur of words. 

“I hate you so much right now.” With that parting shot, Jason hangs up the phone. He glares balefully at it before pointedly silencing it. Setting it aside, he wraps his arm back around Tim and finally releases his spent cock. “Sorry about that. My brother Dick has the worst sense of timing.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tim replies, entranced as Jason raises his hand to his mouth and licks the sticky digits. “I think I would have been more furious if he’d called ten seconds earlier.” 

“Yeah, I’ll give you that one.” Jason runs a clean finger over the corners of Tim’s mouth. “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” 

“I’m fine,” Tim nuzzles into the touch. He’s still buzzing from the encounter. “I take it you have to leave soon?” 

Jason sighs and plants a kiss on Tim’s dark hair. “Yeah. Apparently, Alfie is having a rough day and Bruce decided to try and start dinner tonight. Dick said there was a fire extinguisher involved. There is a reason why we do not let him into the kitchen. _Ever_.” 

Tim snickers into Jason’s shoulder. If it’s a true story, then it’s hilarious. “Well, then by all means, get going. I can clean up here.” Stephanie will not appreciate coming in tomorrow morning and his kitchen smelling like sex. Especially her workstation as that’s where Tim now recognizes them to be. He’ll have to make liberal use of the bleach. 

A tap to his nose brings Tim back to the present. “You are such a space cadet sometimes,” Jason teases. “What are you thinking?” 

“That this is Steph’s work area and she’ll kill me if she finds out we had sex here.” 

Jason laughs. “I swear, one day soon I am going to have the fucking time to lay you out and map every inch of you. Are you still taking Monday off?” 

Reality sets in as Tim’s insane schedule for the next couple weeks flashes through his mind. “Yeah, about that…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're at the halfway point now...I think...we all know how bad I am with this kind of statement. >.<


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous use of whipped cream ahead...

Jason isn’t able to make it to the bakery every day, which does wonders for Tim’s nerves. When he is, Tim is in a constant state of awareness, even as he buckles down and experiments with various decorations for his cupcakes. He finally settles on the final flavors too. Not only is he adding the eggnog one to his repertoire, he’s making a gingerbread one as well. Those two, along with his usual dark chocolate peppermint cupcake, will be the centerpieces of his display.  

They all have to be perfect. He refuses for them to be anything less.  

Tim spends the weekend focused on his business. Here, he’s willing to cut a few corners, prebake and freeze various cupcakes so that he and Steph can defrost and decorate them later. It’s not something he likes to do, but when done properly, there’s hardly a difference in taste. Jason manages to spend a few hours with them on Saturday afternoon and Tim is pleased to see he’s improved quite a bit with his frosting skills.  

Sunday he doesn’t hear from him at all. That’s fine as all Gotham vigilantes deserve a day of rest.  

Stephanie eyes him warily as she finishes loading the last tray into the food truck. “Are you really coming in tomorrow?” she asks with some concern. “You’ve worked yourself to the bone this week and deserve some time off.” 

Tim sighs and runs a hand wearily through his hair. He needs a haircut. “I know, and I love you for thinking of me, but there’s just so much to do.” 

“Hon, we’re ahead of schedule thanks to Jason’s help. You’ve had your time to brainstorm and came up with some beautiful ideas. Give that head of yours a break.” Steph pokes him in the forehead and grins. “Perhaps give your other one a chance to play.”

 “Steph!” Tim protests, but his laughing friend is already jumping into the truck.

“Food for thought, Tim!” 

That’s just it. He has been thinking about it. A little too much. Jason hasn’t touched him since their last interlude even though it’s clear to see he wants to. But Steph’s presence and the short amount of time he’s able to spend in the bakery helps him keep his hands to himself, even if the heated gazes cast in Tim’s direction clearly spell out what he’s thinking. 

Tim scowls as he retreats inside. Perhaps Steph is right, and he needs to allow himself this last little bit of downtime before all the crazy starts in earnest.  

He putters around between customers and finds the bottle of Irish cream liquor Steph had brought in on Friday, begging him to make some of his Irish cream chocolate mousse because she had a craving that couldn’t be satisfied with all the other chocolate products in the shop. Tim knew better than to ask why.  

It’s tempting to take a straight shot of the creamy liquor, but he resists and instead makes a fresh batch of mousse. When he’s done, Tim has no idea what to do with it and places it in the fridge. The shop has been quiet this evening, so he heads back out front and sits behind the counter playing on his phone.  

Steph would say he’s stalling. Tim would counter with he’s practicing avoidance tactics. Either way, this is him not calling or texting Jason to let him know he’s taking the day off tomorrow. That his Sunday night is now wide open and he’s free to do whatever or go wherever he wants.  

What would Jason think if he doesn’t tell him? Tim scoffs at the thought. He won’t think anything. It’s almost six and Jason has important things to do tonight, like protect Gotham, not waste time with someone who makes cupcakes for a living.  

The door chimes as someone walks in almost exactly at six on the nose. “Welcome,” Tim drones by rote and stands, sliding his phone in his back pocket. Then he sees who just came in. “Steph messaged you, didn’t she?” he asks flatly. 

Jason has the grace to look shamefaced. “She did. Said you were  _this_  close to taking the day off tomorrow. Thought maybe I could sweeten the deal by showing up and sweep you off your feet.” 

Tim has to admit that Jason looks good tonight. Dark jeans, motorcycle boots. A forest green sweater peeks out from under a brown leather jacket. He’s obviously taken the time to clean up for him. He knows without even looking down that he’s a cake splattered and frosting covered mess, not fit to be seen in public with this man.  

Still, it’s not anything a shower and a change of clothes couldn’t fix. “What did you have in mind?” 

~*~*~ 

Tim closes up the bakery and makes a quick detour to his apartment to clean up. It’s not far, so Jason joins him on the walk. They don’t speak, but the silence is far from stifling. When they arrive at his apartment, Jason takes a seat in the recliner and makes himself comfortable while Tim showers. 

He’s freshly dressed and putting on his winter coat when Jason finally draws him in close for a kiss.  

“Minty fresh,” he teases, ducking down for again to steal another. 

“You’re complaining?” Tim dishes back. Like Jason is one to talk. There’s a definite hint of mint on the other man’s breath as well. 

“Nope.” Jason presses a third kiss on Tim before he steps back. “Shit, if we’re not careful, I’m gonna blow the chance to wine and dine you tonight.”   

Tim’s stomach grumbles at the mention of food. “Food first,” he says, then remembers the mousse he made earlier. “If we stop by the bakery when we’re done, I made something we could have for dessert.” 

Jason’s eyes light up. “Oh, really? Do tell.” 

“It’s a surprise.”

Dinner is not quite what Tim expects, but when he thinks about who, at the core, Jason is, it makes sense that the quiet bar and grill is where they go. The beer list is massive, and Tim eventually says screw it and orders a tasting flight, much to Jason’s amusement.  

It’s been ages since he’s just let himself relax like this.  

“Why is that?” Jason asks when Tim comments on it 

“I could blame the lack of friends,” he replies, dunking a crispy fried pickle into a spicy garlic aioli that compliments it perfectly. “But really, it’s work. I have to work so hard to keep my business afloat, especially in the beginning when I was just getting started. I’ve got a good client base now and established my brand, so I guess it’s just a habit.”

“You’re a workaholic,” Jason nods sagely, sipping at the amber beer he ordered without thinking twice. “I know a couple people like that. Practically takes an act of God to get them to drop things and relax.” 

Tim laughs, then coos in delight as his sample flight is placed before him. He waits until the waiter finishes explaining each one to reply. “I don’t think I’m quite that bad.” He winks at Jason. “After all, I’m here, aren’t I?” 

As the evening progresses, Tim keeps reminding himself this isn’t a date, no matter how much it feels like one. Jason is witty and charming and has a sharp edge to his sense of humor that he finds incredibly attractive. Honestly, if Jason were anyone other than who he is, there would be no hesitation whatsoever on Tim’s part to try and turn this into something else. He wants to, which is such a rare feeling for him. But Jason is untouchable because of who he is. That’s probably part of the attraction, Tim decides later when they pile into Jason’s red sports car. Right now, he has the attention of Redwing, former Robin, and his all-time favorite hero.  

Tim settles into the black leather seat and watches as Jason deftly maneuvers them out onto the street, his hand gripping the gearshift and changing gears. That same hand is going to be on him soon, working him with the same dexterity.  

Jason pulls up in front of the bakery and Tim hops out to get the mousse he made earlier, as well as some confectioner’s sugar and heavy whipping cream from the cooler. Vanilla extract he already has at home. 

The metal mixing bowl garners a reaction from Jason when he gets back in the car. “You have any idea how hard it was to resist following you?” he asks, eyeing the mousse intently. “I swear, one of my biggest fantasies right now is laying you out on that prep table of yours and licking frosting off your body. I have a feeling whatever’s in that bowl is gonna taste so much better.” 

“Are you saying my frosting tastes _bad?_ ” Tim teases as Jason pulls back out onto the street, the taller man laughing because they both know his frosting is _amazing_ , thank you very much. Tempting as it is to drag Jason inside the bakery, he wants this night to end on a bed and not the cold prep table. “I hope you like Irish cream.” 

_“Fuck.”_  

~*~*~ 

When they arrive at the apartment, Tim wanders into his kitchen to prepare dessert. Jason follows and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his green sweater to watch.  

“You know you don’t have to make it pretty for me,” he comments after a moment. 

Tim smiles and holds up his mixer. “You don’t want homemade whipped cream?” he asks innocently. He can’t hold back his grin as Jason doubles over, laughing so hard he pounds the countertop. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Jason swears while he tries to catch his breath. Tim loves how genuinely amused the man is. It makes his whole face light up and knocks a few years off his street-hardened expression. “I changed my mind about the frosting.” 

“Oh, is it whipped cream now?” Tim asks, cranking the mixer on high. “Good. Less sugar.” 

Before long, he brings out two small bowls and spoons some of the mousse into them, then charges his whipped cream dispenser to finish it off. The dessert is not as elaborate as he’d like them to be, but he doesn’t keep a lot of this stuff at home for a reason. When he feels like getting fancy, he does it at the bakery. 

Jason doesn’t seem to mind as he accepts the bowl and spoon Tim hands to him. He takes a small bite and his eyes almost roll back into his head. The dramatic reaction is a nice stroke to Tim’s ego, as is the exaggerated suck on the spoon.  

“Shit, this is amazing. Just…fucking yum.”  

“Thanks.”  

Tim takes his bowl out into the living room and curls up on one end of the sofa while Jason sits down in the recliner next to him. He can’t help but notice the man is eating more of the mousse than he is the whipped cream. 

“Something wrong with the whipped cream?” Tim asks. 

“Nope,” Jason replies around another mouthful. “I got plans for it.” 

A shiver runs down Tim’s spine at the heat and promise in those words. But he has a better idea. “I still have a lot more whipped cream in the dispenser. And another nitrogen cartridge.”  

Jason’s eyes light up and he finishes his bowl with gusto. He sets it aside and taps his foot somewhat impatiently as Tim relaxes against the armrest and slowly eats his treat, savoring each bite and the subtle flavors of the chocolate and the liquor. Is he dragging this out on purpose? Hell, yes. When is he going to have a chance like this again? Whatever this is between him and Jason won’t last. It can’t. Tim isn’t all that interesting and Jason has a city to protect and a world to sometimes save. 

All he can do is live in this moment. This wonderful, precious moment where all of Jason’s attention is on him.  

Soon, Tim sets his empty bowl on the side table and waits to see what the other man will do first. Jason surprises him by picking up both bowls and retreating to the kitchen. Tim hears him puttering around and the sound of water running briefly. Then, he sees the overhead light above the kitchen sink turn on and the main light turn off. The living room dims significantly since Tim never bothered to turn on a lamp.  

His heart starts beating harder as the anticipation builds.  

Jason emerges from the kitchen, the whipped cream cannister in his hand. He sets it on the coffee table and falls to his knees before Tim. “I know we both know what’s about to happen, but I gotta check,” Jason says, placing his hands on Tim’s denim clad thighs. “You okay with all this?”

Tim’s heart sings at the concern. “I am,” he replies. “Now get up here and kiss me, dammit.”

“ _Bossy_ ,” Jason says but he’s already gliding up Tim’s body and sealing his mouth over Tim’s. 

He’s all fire and passion, licking into the depths of Tim’s mouth, wrestling for control that Tim eventually lets him have. He tugs at Jason’s hair and moans softly as his firm body settles against his. This is all well and good, but he’s been walking the wire all night and needs more. 

Wresting his mouth away, Tim whispers, “Bedroom. Now.” 

In the faint light, he makes out Jason’s grin. “Yes, sir!” 

Tim strips off his sweater as he heads into his room. Behind him, he feels Jason tug at his undershirt and he drags that over his head too. He hopes that in the darkness of the room Jason will completely strip down. His body itches to feel all that warm skin against his own, even if he can’t see it clearly. 

He barely bumps into the bed when he feels scalding hot skin against his back and strong arms wrapping around him. Jason tosses the whip cream canister on the bed, already pressing his lips against the skin of Tim’s neck. “Christ, I want you so bad, Tim.”

Tim’s heart flutters. This is better than anything he could have dreamed of. “You’ve got me.”

Jason lets go long enough to fumble at his belt. Tim does the same and a moment later, he lays back on his bed, bare as the day he was born, and watching the faint outline of the large man sit on the edge of the bed to tug off his boots before he slides his jeans and briefs off. 

This is really about to happen. Holy shit, he’s about to have slightly kinky sex with his childhood hero. Tim parts his knees as Jason crawls up the bed to kiss him again, cradling his muscular body between his own much thinner thighs. He will ride those glorious thighs at least once, he swears to himself. 

Tim loses himself in a dark and sensuous world of touch and scent and taste. He runs his hands over Jason’s broad shoulders and feels the difference in texture between skin and scar. There’s so many scars and his heart breaks at how much pain Jason has experienced over the years, all in the name of justice. 

It makes Tim even more determined to bring him nothing but pleasure. He finds the whipped cream canister with his foot and tries to nudge it further up the bed.

Jason feels him squirm and pulls away from what will be a spectacular mark on Tim’s collar bone. “Something wrong?”

Tim shakes his head. “Far from it. But I distinctly remember you saying you want to lick every inch of me.”

He feels Jason’s low rumble deep in his chest. “Impatient much?”

“I haven’t had sex in three years and my only release has been with a toy or my hand. What do you think?” Tim knows he sounds a bit testy and doesn’t care. He wants this so badly. 

Jason licks a swath down Tim’s chest, coming to a stop over his soft abdomen. Well, soft compared to Jason’s washboard abs. God, he wants to see them. Touch them. 

“Then I think we should get you off at least once now. Gives us more time to really work you up later.”

Tim’s brain stalls at that. “Wait. We’re doing this more than once?”

Jason sits up and grabs hold of the whipped cream, shaking it hard. “Babe, what on earth makes you think I’m going to stop at just one time?”

Oh. _Oh_. Tim spreads his legs wider in invitation. “Well, then. I suppose you better get started.” 

He wishes he can see Jason’s expression but there’s a hand wrapping around his cock, so rational thought escapes for a time, especially when a warm tongue laps at the head. 

What does force his brain to reboot is the chill of cold whipped cream against overly heated skin. 

“Holy shit!” Tim tries to jerk away but Jason has him pinned. “ _Cold!_ ”

Jason laughs even as he licks the whipped cream off Tim’s length. “Perhaps frosting would be better if you’re going to squirm like this.”

Tim smacks his head, which only causes Jason to laugh harder. “Gimme that. I’ll show you what it feels like.”

“Nope, this is mine,” Jason replies even as he sprays some more on Tim’s thigh and licks at it. “You want some, you’ll have to make more.” 

“Like you’re going to let me up long enough to do that.”

Jason nuzzles at the skin and strokes Tim’s cock with a firm hand. “I dunno. Do you have an apron here? I may let you up if you wear nothin’ but that. I can kneel behind you and eat that sweet little ass of yours while you work.”

God, there’s that filthy mouth again. Tim’s spine tingles at the thought. Then again, it’s one he’s had too. “Do you have any idea how many times I thought about that last week when you were at the shop? I just wanted Steph to leave for ten minutes, _ten minutes_ , so I could rip your pants off and worship that ass.”

“I don’t usually hear that about my ass.” Jason sprays some more whipped cream on Tim, this time on the extremely sensitive skin of his sac. 

Tim yelps, squirming harder this time. This isn’t exactly going as he thought it would. 

Jason must notice his flagging interest as his mouth quickly replaces his hand, an odd mix of hot and waning cold as he works Tim back to full hardness. He doesn’t stop to play with the whipped cream at all, which Tim appreciates because damn, his mouth is an inferno he just wants to sink into. He bucks his hips and Jason hums approvingly.

Well, it’s not a no. Tim thrusts again, and again, soon finding his rhythm as he fucks Jason’s mouth. Dear god, it’s just as mindblowing an experience as the first time and maybe it really has been too long since he had a partner in his bed because this is going to be over embarrassingly fast…

He feels a finger rub against the outside of his hole, prodding carefully against the tight ring of muscle. The stimulation is enough and Tim comes, shouting Jason’s name.

“Now that’s a sound I could get used to,” Jason purrs after a moment, his voice rough from the abuse. “Let’s what else I can do to make you sing.”

The answer is a lot.

Jason plays Tim like a finely tuned instrument, slow and sweet one moment, then sends him racing towards another climax only to bring him back down. It’s maddening. It’s the best sex Tim has ever had, even if the whipped cream is something he decides he could do without. The chill is too distracting against his heated flesh.

After the third time Tim’s next release is denied to him, he finally speaks up. “Are you always this much of a cocktease?” The impact is probably lost as he’s gasping for breath, but that’s beside the point.

“Hmm?” Jason raises his head from between Tim’s legs where he’s been busy exploring Tim’s little pucker with his tongue. In the dark, Tim can only imagine the shit-eating grin on his face. “What’s that?”

“You heard me,” Tim growls in reply.

“If I recall, you’ve come once already. I haven’t yet.”

“You also get laid more regularly than I do.” The words slip out before Tim can stop them. Shit.

But Jason brushes a kiss along the inside of his thigh. “Do I?”

“Do you?” Tim counters. “Or is that just the media?”

“Vultures, every single one.” But Jason is moving and pressing his own heavy body against Tim’s as he brings them face to face again. “Still, I will admit that I’ve had more sex in the last three years than you have.”

“Even just one time is more.” Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck and draws him in close. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already.”

Jason rocks his hips purposefully against Tim’s, the steely length of his erection gliding over his own. “You sure you can take me?”

Tim swallows, hoping the movement is lost in the dark. “That’s why we have this thing called _lube_.”

“Yeah? Where is it?” 

“My nightstand.” Tim pauses as another thought occurs to him. “I don’t bareback,” he states plainly. 

Jason presses a kiss against Tim’s neck. “Neither do I. I got rubbers in my wallet. Ten seconds.” 

They manage to part long enough to get their supplies. Tim hears the faint tear of the wrapper as he uncaps his lube and slicks up two fingers. He’s loose enough to take those easy thanks to Jason’s tongue. 

Jason fumbles around in the dark, not expecting to find Tim up on his knees. He lets out a low hiss when he realizes what Tim’s doing. “Aw, I wanted to do that,” he says, kneeling behind him and massaging the cheeks of Tim’s bottom with his large hands. “Besides, my fingers are bigger.” 

“I know, you had one up my ass already,” Tim replies, leaning back against Jason despite the awkward angle. He keeps going, scissoring his fingers now. God, he’s so close that if he’s not careful, he could come again with even a single accidental brush against his prostate. 

Tim hears the faint _snick_ of the cap on the lube snapping open, then closed as Jason slicks up his own fingers. He feels the solid warmth of Jason’s cock pressed against him, then one of Jason’s fingers slip inside, joining his own. 

“Look at you,” Jason whispers, his voice rough with need. “Taking two fingers so easily. Lemme give you mine.” 

The press of another finger has Tim slide his own out. A moment later, he feels even more full than he did before as Jason slips the second digit inside him. He whines and rocks back against them, needing more. 

“You like that, huh?” Jason continues as he teases him with a third. “You wanna fuck my fingers? I think I wanna see that.” His lower Gotham accept starts to creep into his words. Tim loves it, loves that he’s the one making him lose his control. “But we’re gonna save that for later. Right now, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember anyone else’s name but _mine_ when you finally come.” 

Tim doesn’t think he’s going to last all that long, but bites his tongue as he lowers himself against the bed, bracing himself on his arms and arching his ass up. Jason removes his fingers and a moment later, the blunt head of his sheathed cock replace them, slowly pressing inward. 

It burns going in, even with the extra lube Jason must have added. He lets out a hiss at a particularly uncomfortable stretch and Jason stops instantly, running his hands soothingly over Tim’s hips and back. “You got this, Timmy. I know you do.” 

He runs his mouth some more, but Tim concentrates on relaxing his body enough to take more of Jason’s cock. It’s just his luck that the man is _thick_ and dear god, this is going to feel amazing once he’s able to start moving in earnest. Perhaps he should have brought out that one dildo of his last week and warm up his body to the invasion again. Come to think of it, Jason will probably like it if he ever finds out about it. 

“You’re getting lost in that head of yours, Tim,” Jason comments, pushing in a little more before stopping for Tim to adjust. “Whatcha thinkin’?” 

Tim sucks in a breath and rocks forward a bit, sliding up Jason’s cock, then back down. Jason lets out a low moan at the movement. It already feels so much better than it did. “That you’d like my toy collection.” 

“Oh, really?” Jason replies. Tim can already hear the leer. “The prissy little pastry chef has a toy collection, huh? We’ll have to take a look later and see whatcha got.” 

_Later_. The word rolls around in Tim’s head as he finally feels Jason fully seat himself in his ass. _Later_. As in, they’re going to do this again. More than once. That’s what _later_ means, right? 

_Right?_  

“Fuck, Tim. Please, tell me I can move,” Jason pleads, his fingers pressed into Tim’s hips with a strong grip. 

Tim gasps as Jason’s words sink in. He may be the one with the cock up his ass, but he’s in control here. This strong and powerful man is currently at _his_ mercy. 

It’s a good thing they both want the same thing. 

“Fuck me, Jason. Fuck me so hard I’m never going to forget it.” 

Not that he ever could. No, Tim feels very safe in admitting to himself that any subsequent partner he takes after Jason is not going to measure up in the slightest. Nope, especially not with how Jason snaps his hips forward hard, driving his cock further in, making Tim feel every inch of it. He does it again, and again, his own breathing becoming labored as he thrusts. 

This is quite possibly the best moment in his life, Tim decides as they find their rhythm. Here he is having sex with someone he’s admired (and okay, had a massive crush on during his early teenage years) for a very long time. Jason Wayne always seemed so out of reach up on his pedestal, but here he is with him right now. For the moment, Tim feels wanted. Desired. Needed. 

Jason shifts behind him and Tim almost falls flat on his face as he finds the spot to send him into a brainless mess. “Ja—son,” he groans, eyes tearing up as Jason keeps going. “ _Jay…”_  

“Do it, Tim. Come for me.” 

He can’t do anything but obey, coming without having touched himself at all. Tim feels the ropey mess against his stomach, but all thought has left his brain as Jason’s grip on him tightens even more, sure to leave a bruise or two that he’ll find in the morning. Jason’s hips stutter in shorter jerks, his rhythm growing irregular as he finds his own release, shouting wordlessly as he comes. 

Tim is vaguely aware of the fact that it’s only Jason and his strong grip keeping him upright. Jason slips out of him and maneuvers Tim onto his back, both of them breathing somewhat erratically. 

“Wow,” Tim finally manages to say. 

Jason chuckles from where he’s flopped down next to him. “That all you gotta say?” 

“Wow,” he repeats. His brain is still rebooting, sue him. 

“You okay?” 

Tim nods, even if the movement isn’t the most obvious in the dark room. He really wishes they could do this with the lights on, but knows better than to press his luck. Still… “You mentioned _later_ earlier. How soon will that be?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, definitely ten chapters in total. I have spoken!! >.<


	7. Chapter 7

_“Ja—son,”_ Tim tries to say, but it’s challenging since said man’s fingers are in his mouth for him to suck on. He braces himself against his work table, jeans and underwear around his ankles, and pants hard, each breath timed perfectly as Jason thrusts into him. 

Stephanie is long gone with the truck, so there’s no chance of an interruption from her. She waggled her eyebrows knowingly when she left, telling them to make sure everything is sanitary when she comes back tomorrow. Jason had laughed raucously while Tim’s ears burned. 

The bakery is barely closed before Jason whisks him away into the privacy of the kitchen. He wishes he could say this is a one off situation, but it’s the third time this week that Jason arrives in the late afternoon, ostensibly to help out, but in reality to fuck Tim stupid. 

Not that he’s complaining. They do manage to get actual work done before their pants come off. At least this time there’s no frosting involved. While fun in practice, it proved even messier than the whipped cream, especially since the only place available to clean up afterwards was the industrial sink. 

“Listen ta you singin’ so pretty for me. Still so tight even after everythin’ we’ve done this week,” Jason growls, barely sounding like he’s breathing hard even though he’s balls deep in Tim’s ass, each stroke filling him more and more. 

Tim groans some more and keeps sucking. Jason’s fingers taste faintly of frosting. 

It’s so good, too good, feeling like this. Like he’s actually wanted by this incredible man. Needed even. Each time Jason arrives here, tension and stress are visibly thrumming under his skin. He says it’s from work when Tim and Stephanie ask the first time he all but stalks into the shop after the utterly incredible night (and okay, morning) they shared together, but Tim privately wonders if it’s something else. He hopes he’s not part of the problem because he sure as hell doesn’t mind being part of the solution. 

Jason’s other hand moves from Tim’s hip to start jerking him off. “Want you to come first,” he says, voice laden with heat and dark promises. “Wanna feel you come around my cock.” 

Tim tries to thrust into Jason’s hand, but he’s pinned against the prep table and doesn’t have a lot of room to move. The grip tightens and Jason thumbs the slit, rubbing precome into the head of his shaft. Tim comes with a muffled shout, trying not to bite the fingers still in his mouth. His body clamps down hard around Jason’s cock and barely a moment later, Jason is swearing up a storm as he releases in Tim’s body. 

The sound of their labored breathing fills the air. Tim revels in the warm and fuzzy feelings tingling throughout his body. This is the perfect way to start his Friday night. He’s going to sleep so well later, just as he has every other evening he and Jason had sex this week. And Jason, well, he has to be getting something out of it too, otherwise he wouldn’t keep coming back. 

Jason mouths gently at the back of Tim’s neck. “You okay?” he asks, just as he always does when he thinks he’s been too rough on Tim. 

“I’m fine,” Tim replies after a moment. He still feels tingly and oversensitive, and can’t help the slight hiss as Jason slips out of his ass. “Are you okay?” he dares to ask. “It feels like you’re working out some frustration.” 

There, he said it. 

Behind him, Jason sighs heavily, even as he rubs soothingly at Tim’s hip with his clean hand. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he trails off uncertainly. 

Tim turns to face him, catching hold of his dirty hand and bringing it to his mouth. “It’s just what?” he asks, licking at the sticky mess on Jason’s fingers. 

Jason’s eyes narrows as he watches intently, seemingly distracted before his gaze sharpens again. “You’re a little shit sometimes, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told this before,” Tim agrees, not stopping what he’s doing. The bitterness of his come has a faintly sweet edge to it today. Must be all the sugar he ate the other day since it wasn’t just Jason who got to lick frosting. Tim had decorated the head of Jason’s cock like one of his cupcakes, much to the man’s amusement. 

The comment garners a laugh, albeit a small one, just enough to make the faint lines around Jason’s eyes crinkle. God, Tim is so screwed if he’s noticing little things like this. His constant reminders that this won’t last forever are faint and hard to hear in moments like these. 

Jason doesn’t speak until Tim finishes cleaning his hand. He sighs again, this time looking away as he removes the spent condom, knots it, and tosses it into the trash bin. “I’ve gotta go on a business trip. WE shit that can’t wait until after the holidays.” 

Ah. So that’s it then. Tim nods, accepting the story at face value because what else can he do? He’s not in the know, he doesn’t get to ask the questions he really wants the answers to. “How long will you be gone?” he asks instead, like he’s supposed to. 

“About a week. I leave tomorrow for Hong Kong.” Jason doesn’t sound happy about it, which helps lessen the sting. “I should be back in time for the charity gala. I want a taste of all these cupcakes I see you prepping for.” 

Tim had been playing with spun sugar when Jason arrived earlier, trying different designs out, seeing what looked best, and didn’t take a ton of time to do. “If you’re not back in time, don’t worry. These are all getting added to my holiday collection, so they’ll be around for the next few weeks.” 

Jason huffs a laugh and draws Tim in close, pressing his forehead against Tim’s. “That’s not the same though.” 

“How so?” 

“Because when that big party is over, I plan to drag your ass upstairs to my room and blow you until you pass out. Knowing you, you’re going to be running on fumes at that point, so it won’t take long.” 

Tim swallows and blinks rapidly, forcing the strong surge of happiness back down where it belongs. It looks like he’s not the only one noticing small things about the other person. Then again, Jason is a Batman-trained detective, he’s supposed to be observant. 

“We’ll see what happens then,” Tim offers, proud of himself for not sounding choked up. 

“If I have any control over things, it _will_.” 

~*~*~ 

Time flies and before Tim knows it, Wednesday has arrived. Today is the day he and Steph pack up shop and head to Wayne Manor where they’ll live and breathe incredibly detailed cupcakes for the next 72 hours. It has also been four full days since he’s heard from Jason, but who’s counting? 

“Since when is this any different from what we normally do?” Stephanie asks as they finish loading everything Tim thinks they’re going to need from the bakery into the food truck. “I mean, come on, cupcakes are kinda our thing.” 

Tim rolls his eyes as he locks up the shop. A sign on the door states they’re closed until Sunday for a special event. “Oh, so making 700 plus cupcakes and other assorted sweets for a multi-billionaire is an everyday thing?” he retorts. 

Stephanie has the gall to grin at him. “It could be if you keep banging said billionaire’s son.” 

Of course, she knows that Jason is out of town. Tim hasn’t exactly been moping, but he has been on edge about it. What is he doing? Is it actually WE work or is he doing something heroic that involves car chases, gun fights, and explosions? Okay, that’s a little ridiculous, even for him. He needs to cut back on the action movies. 

“I’d like to think that it’s the quality of my work that gets us future jobs and not where I’m sticking my dick.” 

Stephanie throws her keys at him. “Tim! Too much!” 

Tim catches them easily. “You’re the one who keeps asking for all the gory details!” 

“I changed my mind!” 

He drives them out of the city and into Bristol, following the detailed instructions Alfred sent to him and soon brings the truck to a rumbling halt in front of a massive wrought iron gate. There’s a long, well-maintained gravel driveway on the other side, and at the end of it, a good quarter mile away, lies Wayne Manor. Tim swallows as nerves finally strike. He’s here. He’s really here. Somewhere on this property is where Bruce Wayne becomes Batman every night. Where Dick Grayson, Jason Todd-Wayne, and Damian Wayne become Nightwing, Redwing, and Robin. 

His inner fanboy faints from the mental overload. 

The button for the intercom is much closer to the ground so Tim hops out of the truck and presses it. After a moment, Alfred’s voice comes through, loud and clear. “Wayne Manor, please state your business.” 

“Hello, Mr. Pennyworth. It’s Tim Drake.” Tim waves at the camera that is no doubt watching his every move. 

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Drake. I see you drove your truck today.” There’s a slightly disparaging note to Alfred’s voice. 

He gets it. The truck is big and colorful, not exactly the type of vehicle seen around these parts. “Just today, promise. Had a lot to bring up here.” 

“I jest, Mr. Drake. I will meet you at the service entrance.” 

The gates start to open, so Tim takes that as a hint and gets back in the truck. 

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Stephanie says, all but bouncing in her seat as she looks over the broad expanse of lawn, winter brown that it is. Out here, the gloom of the city isn’t as prevalent, the sun peeking through puffy white clouds to brighten the day. 

“It’s been years since I was,” Tim replies, driving up the gravel stretch. “Most of them were at night, but there was a garden party I remember getting dragged to. You think this place is impressive now, wait until early summer and all the flowers are in bloom.” 

Tim turns right when he spots the small sign proclaiming all service vehicles are to park by the back entrance. The drive is narrower here as they drive around the palatial house, but it lets out into a small parking lot. They’re the only ones here at the moment, but Tim is still careful as he backs the truck into the spot closest to the door. 

They exit the truck and Stephanie unlocks the back and Tim slides it up, making sure it catches before hopping in. 

“Surely you’re not planning for this monstrosity to cater for the party,” a young man speaks up from behind them. 

Tim turns in time to see Alfred being wheeled out from the service entrance, pushed by none other than Damian Wayne. He bites his tongue because wow, _Robin_. The teenager is tall, almost as tall as Jason from the looks of it. 

“Just like a book, do not judge a vehicle by its cover,” Alfred replies patiently. He must be used to this. “This young man is Tim Drake, the one who made your birthday cake a few weeks ago.” 

“Still no excuse for garishness.” 

Stephanie, bless her soul, speaks up since Tim is still tongue tied. “Is it the colors or the fact that a food truck is sitting in your driveway that’s bothering you?” she asks bluntly. “Because the truck is only going to be here today. How else are we supposed to get everything up here? It’s not like you guys are around the corner from the shop.” 

Damian stands stiffly, apparently not used to people talking back to him, let alone the help. “Thank goodness for small blessings if that thing is parked out front every day.” 

“Nah, it only comes around the back when we’re loading for our runs. Otherwise, it stays parked in a storage facility that’s close by.” Stephanie grins, and Tim realizes she’s enjoying herself. 

She had better be careful because Damian is not like Jason. Not at all. Tim jumps back down and approaches. “Hello, Mr. Wayne,” he says politely and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Not really, but he has _manners_. 

Damian eyes his hand with suspicion before a small cough from Alfred has him reaching out to accept it, his grip a little too firm. “You’re the baker my brother is so obsessed over.” 

Tim fights back the flush he can feel rising up his neck. “I wouldn’t quite put it that way. Obsession implies that I occupy every waking thought Jason has. I can assure you, that isn’t the case.” 

Alfred raises a hand to his mouth and coughs again while Damian gives Tim an incredulous look. He shakes his head. “Whatever. I can only hope that your skills are as on par for this event as they were for my cake. This is Wayne Manor, we accept nothing less than the very best.” 

With that parting shot, Damian turned and walked away, leaving Alfred with Tim and Stephanie. 

“Is he always like that?” she asks after Damian disappears inside. 

“Yes,” Alfred replies. “But it has gotten much better over the years.” 

“This is better?” 

~*~*~ 

Tim wants to tear his hair out and scream. It won’t do any good, but it’ll make him feel a lot better. 

“Is this how true artists behave?” Steph asks somewhat waspishly. 

“I wouldn’t know. I’m a pastry chef, not an artist,” Tim bites back as he tosses the failed batch of spun sugar into the trash. 

“What the hell is going on?” Stephanie continues, glaring at the trash like it personally offended her. “That turned out so perfectly in the shop.” 

Tim has a few ideas, one of which involves heat and humidity. The industrial kitchen, while massive, doesn’t have the best air flow. He opens the window over the sink to let some cool winter air in. “Sugar is a fickle thing,” he says, remembering one of his very first instructors. “It needs to be dry here. Are there any fans in that closet?” 

There’s only one day left. All his spun sugar designs are falling apart. Everything else is coming along perfectly, so of course it’s the sugar that’s driving him nuts. He has the means to store the completed creations so they can be used tomorrow, but it is now a matter of even getting them to set properly in the first place. 

He returns to the stove to start over, already noticing a change in the air. Perhaps this time they’ll work… 

So focused is Tim on his work that he misses Alfred’s entrance into the large room. As well as the person who accompanies him. He doesn’t miss Steph’s bony elbow digging into his back. 

“Hey!” he says, turning to glare at her. “I’m…” Tim stops and gapes. Gapes some more, then he remembers _sugar_ and removes it from the heat. 

Standing next to Alfred is Dick Grayson, grinning with one of his mega-watt smiles. “So you’re the baker Jason won’t shut up about.” 

This again. Tim shakes his head. “Baker, yes. That he spends some time with. I’m not sure about everything else.” He ignores the loud snort of disbelief from Stephanie. Doesn’t she have rum balls to be working on? They’re for after the kids leave. 

Holy cow, he’s talking to Dick Grayson. His inner fanboy is squealing in excitement and jumping up and down in complete and utter glee. 

Before Dick can reply, Alfred speaks up. “I am curious as to your progress, Mr. Drake?” 

Right. Business first. Dick later. Good thing this dialogue is in his head because that could be taken the wrong way. 

“We’re doing pretty good, Mr. Pennyworth. Except that the humidity in here keeps making my spun sugar sticky. It’s drier than a bone outside and all our baking is done, so I’m not sure where it’s coming from.” 

Alfred and Dick share a look that apparently means something to them. “I’ll see what I can do about the ventilation,” the old man replies after a moment. “There’s a massive wine cellar below us. While there is no direct entrance into it from here, the foundations of this house are old and damp often creeps in from unexpected places.” Alfred turns to Dick. “I believe there are some floor fans, as well as a dehumidifier, in the storage room just off the laundry. Would you be so kind as to fetch them, my boy?” 

“Of course, Alfred.” Dick nods and exits the kitchen. 

Tim’s eyes are glued to him because oh god, Jason’s comment about his ass makes so much more sense now. Even under the cover of a pair of jeans, Dick’s ass is just…words are escaping him at the moment, but he’s sure he’ll come up with the right ones at some point, just like he will for Jason’s thighs. 

He shakes his head and tears his gaze away, huffing a laugh when he notices Stephanie is still staring. How is this his life right now? 

Back to business. Tim shows Alfred around, letting him sample some of the cooling cupcakes. He won’t frost these until tomorrow. There’s a routine he and Steph have down. They have this. They can do it. 

“This is quite boozy,” Alfred comments after tasting one of the eggnog cupcakes. 

“There’s two versions,” Tim replies. “This batch here are for the adults and will be on the upper tier of the display, out of reach of the kids. I’ve got a non-alcoholic version over there on that table for the kids. They’ll also be decorated differently to avoid confusion.” 

Alfred nods approvingly. “Your requested display arrived a little bit ago. It’s being set up in the ballroom right now. If you can spare a moment, I’ll show you.” 

Tim removes his stained apron and washes his hands, then takes hold of Alfred’s wheelchair, following the man’s directions when they leave the kitchen. 

He’s never entered the grand ballroom from this direction before, but it’s still no less majestic. “It’s like a winter wonderland in here,” Tim observes. 

It truly is, with pine boughs draped artistically around the room, white lights twinkling from overhead, concealing the balcony Tim vaguely remembers running the length of the room. The wall of windows letting out into the garden outside are crystal clear, the sun streaming inside to brighten the room. There’s a massive Christmas tree at the far end of the room, decorated in more white lights and little red holly berries. 

“That is the intent, Mr. Drake,” Alfred replies with a hint of pride. “I normally take a very active role in these preparations, but this year I’ve been forced to delegate.” 

As if on cue, Damian marches into the ballroom, leading a group of rather cowed looking decorators. “Do you really think that _spray snow_ will make things more _festive_ in here?” he barks derisively at someone. “Look at those windows and say that to me again.” 

Tim doesn’t say a word and turns his attention back to Alfred, rather glad he has to report to this man rather than Damian. He’s not sure he could handle the young tyrant, not right now with the sticky mess he left in the kitchen. 

“So, my display will be where?” 

~*~*~ 

The fans and the dehumidifier do the trick and Tim’s stress levels decrease significantly. That night, he manages to get a few hours of sleep before he’s back up at the crack of dawn and on his way to Wayne Manor with Stephanie, both of them sipping peppermint mochas they stopped to get along the way. There is still a lot to do and Tim has a list prepared, but he still feels confident they can get it all done. 

They have to. His reputation is on the line here. 

In the back of his mind, Tim wonders if he’ll see Jason tonight. He still hasn’t heard from him at all and he refuses to ask anyone from his family about him. Tim isn’t Jason’s boyfriend or really even a friend. They’re two adults with a mutual attraction; this does not mean Tim gets to ask questions or pry into Jason’s business. 

Tim throws himself into his work and drags Stephanie along with him. 

The day is pure and utter chaos, especially once the other caterers arrive and try to take over Tim’s space; however, one reprimand from Alfred, who has been a constant presence in the kitchen all day, sends them packing and setting up directly in the ballroom. 

Serving staff start arriving a few hours before the event starts. Half a dozen of them are assigned to Tim and he directs them as to how his display is to be set up, which cupcakes are the kid friendly ones, and which ones are for the adults. The tiered display is supposed to mimic a Christmas tree, with the green tinted frosting on his mint and chocolate cupcakes representing the boughs, the white from the eggnog cupcakes as snow, and the red from his gingerbread cupcakes acting as decorations. 

Each cupcake is a work of art, and if Tim weren’t so damned busy, he’d stop for some pictures. He’s already been promised by Alfred that the photographer they hired for the event will take some of the completed display and that he will be sent those. 

Finally, the last cupcake is out of the kitchen. Tim follows the staff out to the ballroom to oversee the completion his display and nods approvingly when it’s done. “Perfect,” he mutters, exhaustion seeping into his bones now that he’s not running a million miles an hour. “Just perfect.” 

“I’ll say. You and Steph did an awesome job.” 

Tim startles and finds Dick standing next to him. “Uh, thanks.” 

“Jason says this is the first big event you’ve ever done,” Dick says, nodding in approval. “If those taste even half as good as Damian’s birthday cake, I’d say it’s a success.” 

Those words mean so much coming from his childhood hero. But Tim isn’t a child, even if his inner fanboy is quietly melting into a pile of goo over the praise. “Thank you,” he replies, more firmly than before. “A word of warning…the top tier eggnog cupcakes pack quite a punch.” 

Dick chuckles and folds his arms. “I’ll let the others know. I’m sure Damian will try and sneak one.” He seems like he’s waiting for something, but Tim isn’t sure what. 

Whatever, he’s still got some work to do. Tim nods and heads back to the kitchen. 

“He’s home, you know,” Dick’s voice calls out from behind him. “Have you checked your phone at all today?” 

Jason. Jason is back. Tim lets his head fall back as a wave of relief washes through him. He’s home. That means he’s safe and in one piece. But Tim doesn’t stop. He doesn’t get to ask those kinds of questions. Jason hasn’t contacted him once in the week he’s been gone, which reinforces Tim’s belief he was gone for a mission rather than WE work. Not that it matters at all. They have an arrangement and Jason knows where he can be found if he wants to see him. 

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Tim offers as he keeps walking. “In case you hadn’t noticed.” 

He pushes open the door to the kitchen and lets it swing close behind him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're officially caught up to what I have posted on Tumblr. ^.^


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who thought this was just going to be fluff... _pfft_.

Exhaustion hits Tim several hours later, right after his third double shot espresso wears off. If someone were to tell him he had to choose between his bed and Jason’s bed to crash in, he’d pick his. Sleep sounds wonderful, even if no one is beside him to share it with. 

“You’d choose sleep over sex?” Steph asks incredulously. She and Tim are finishing up their dishes while the rest of the caterers and servers bustle around them doing their jobs. Now that the dessert displays are done, they don’t need all the space. Everything that’s left in the kitchen should be able to fit in the trunk of Stephanie’s car, saving them a trip back up here tomorrow. One more hour to go, and that’s mostly to make sure all the serving trays look pretty as they go out. 

“At this point, I don’t think I could get it up if I tried.” Tim leans against the sink and sighs. He’s tired all the way to his bones. 

“How much sleep have you gotten this week?” 

That is a good question. Tim tries to remember. “A few hours here and there. I’ve just been so wound up that it’s hard to settle down.” 

Steph nods in understanding. “You and that big brain of yours. Okay, I’ll grant you sleep over sex this one time only.” 

“Thanks.” 

They get back to work and Tim soon takes another small crate outside to Steph’s car. He doesn’t own one, just the food truck. It never made much sense with how close he lives to the shop and public transportation has always suited him just fine. 

In the quiet of the parking lot, Tim hears his phone chime. He pulls it out and reads another message from Jason. It’s the seventh one he’s sent in the last six hours. 

 _Hey, I’m home. Looking forward to seeing you later._

_I’m sure you’re busy as hell, so drop me a line when you can._

_Dick says he saw you earlier and that you look like death warmed over. You okay?_

_I can’t wait to see you spread out on my bed later. I’ll take good care of you. Put you right to sleep. ;)_

_Holy fuck, these are amazing. The kids are loving them._

_Are you even looking at your phone?_

_Tim, look at your damn phone._

Tim can’t even chuckle over the last message. He’s looking, but right now, there is zero energy or inclination to answer. All Jason wants is a booty call tonight, even if all Tim has to do is lie there and take it. No thanks. Perhaps he should send a reply now rather than later when he and Steph leave. 

No, that could have Jason come marching right into the kitchen. He’s too tired to deal with that, especially since Jason is likely to take one look at his sleep deprived ass and haul him upstairs for some of that TLC he mentioned earlier. He doesn’t need that. Just sleep. 

Tim tucks his phone back into his pocket and draws a deep breath of the cold night air. It feels wonderful after the closeness of the kitchen, even if his chef’s jacket doesn’t do much to keep the chill away from his skin. He’d brought it with on a whim but didn’t put it on until earlier when one of the caterers tried bossing him around when Alfred disappeared for a short time. 

There’s a stillness around him that Tim finds soothing after two solid weeks of nerves that have been rubbed raw. He is a city boy to be certain and Wayne Manor isn’t all that far removed from Gotham, but when he looks up at the clear sky, he sees more stars than he ever does in the light polluted city.  

It’s wonderful. 

It’s peaceful. 

Of course it has to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Tim almost doesn’t answer before thinking better of it. When he sees the name flashing on the caller ID, he can’t swipe fast enough. 

“Hello, this is Tim Drake.” 

“Hello, this is Gotham Advantage Security. Mr. Drake. I’m calling to inform you that the alarm in your shop has been triggered. The cameras you installed show two intruders broke in through the front door. We’ve called the police and they’re en route…” 

Tim’s heart races. Why is this happening _now?_ “Motherfucker,” he swears. “Sorry, not you. _Them_.” 

“It’s okay, we hear it all the time.” 

He gets some more information from the security person. This is why he pays what he does for the service. It's not the first time a shop in his area has been broken into (it’s _Gotham_ ) but this is the first time it’s happened to him. Most of the equipment he has isn’t easily portable; about the only thing of worth is the tablet he uses for payments as even the laptop for actual office work comes home with him each night. Hell, he doesn’t keep much cash on hand either. 

“I’m on my way,” Tim says once the security person confirms the robbers have left the bakery. They weren’t in there for very long. Adrenaline surges through him, erasing the exhaustion for now. 

Running back inside, he finds Stephanie speaking with Alfred. 

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Drake. Master Bruce was hoping you would be willing to come out and speak to some of the donors. They’re very interested in meeting you.” 

Under any other circumstances, Tim would be jumping at the chance, even if some of these people just want to see what the last Drake is up to these days. “Sorry, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’ve got to go.” He shakes his head and looks to Stephanie. “Steph, I just got a call from the security company about the bakery. Some assholes broke in and robbed us. I need to borrow your car.” 

Her eyes widen even as her mouth drops open in shock. “No. Oh, those fucktards.” She immediately starts going for her purse. “Why _tonight?_ Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch.” 

Tim catches hold of her. “Hey, calm down. We’ve got another hour that one of us needs to be here and it has to be you. Keep those trays looking pretty and I will call you as soon as I know more.” 

Steph looks like she wants to protest. Or maybe cry because her big blue eyes are watery, but she sniffs and nods firmly. “Okay. Okay.” 

Alfred has been quiet during the exchange, but he reaches out and clasps Tim’s hand firmly. “Mr. Drake, I am very sorry to hear about what has happened, and most certainly understand your business comes first. I shall inform Master Bruce you have a most important matter to attend to.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth. I’ll be in touch.” 

Tim is halfway down the driveway before he realizes what that statement really means. “Holy shit, he’s telling _Batman_.” 

~*~*~ 

By the time he makes it all the way across town to the bakery, the police have their yellow tape across the remains of his front door. Tim speaks with them and one officer follows him around the small shop where they have him take inventory to see what’s missing. 

Sure enough, the tablet is gone. Small matter since he can take payments on his phone too. The safe in his actual office is gone as well. The door to one of the refrigerators hangs open, but there hasn’t been anything in there for a few days. 

“I think they must have been hungry,” Tim tries to joke when all he really wants to do is yell. One of the pricks smashed his display case; it’s going to be harder to replace that than the door. They apparently decided to put their foot through the display as a petty act of vandalism after they realized they weren’t getting much from the shop. 

Assholes. 

The police officer laughs. “I’ve been here a few times,” she replies. “Can’t blame them for wanting a freebie.” 

Tim waits rather impatiently in the kitchen while the police wrap things up. He texts Steph about what’s been taken and jokingly assures her that the bright purple stand mixer he bought just for her is still in its proper place. She doesn’t reply immediately, so she must be busy. 

One of the officers helps him tape a big piece of opaque plastic over the shattered door and then they’re gone, a few platitudes of how they’ll do their best to find whoever did this, but they all know it’s a hollow promise. 

Looking around his shop, Tim wraps his arms around himself and takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. He feels…violated. This place is his home more than his apartment and having someone violate the sanctity of it makes him want to vomit. He shakes it off. There’s work to be done. There is always work to be done. 

He retreats to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, despite the fact he’s past the point of no return for it to do any good now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Tim makes a call to his insurance company to report the break-in (thank you, twenty-four hour claims department) and sends them the copy of the police report, as well as pictures of his shattered door and the display case. 

When he’s done, Tim finishes his coffee and grabs the broom and dustpan from his cleaning supplies. Time to clean up this mess. 

Before he leaves the kitchen, his phone rings. It’s Stephanie. 

“Hey,” he answers, biting back a yawn. 

“Hey, yourself,” she replies. “I got your message. How are you holding up?” 

“I’m holding on with caffeine and a prayer.” Tim tells her about the mess. “I’m actually glad this happened now,” he admits. “I can’t imagine what this place would look like if there had been food here.” 

“A cake and frosting smeared mess,” Steph finishes for him. “I can just see it now.” 

“No kidding.” Tim then remembers that he effectively left Steph stranded up at Wayne Manor. “I’ll come get you soon. I just want to clean up some of this glass and then I’ll be on my way.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, then her voice picks up in excitement. “You won’t believe who offered me a ride home.” 

Tim doesn’t even want to try, but he plays along. “That caterer who’s been hitting on you all night?” 

“Ew, no,” Stephanie laughs, sounding grossed out. “Right after you left, Mr. Pennyworth went and told Mr. Wayne you had to leave. You’d barely been gone five minutes before Jason runs into the kitchen and starts interrogating me. He looked _delicious_ in that tux of his by the way. Holy crap. So anyway, Mr. Wayne comes in after him and tells him to go do whatever he needs to and Jason runs off. And then Mr. Wayne asks me how I’m getting home and when I said I’ll just get an Uber, he laughs that creepy weird laugh of his and tells me he’ll take me himself.” 

It takes a moment for Tim’s weary brain to compute. “Wait a sec. _Bruce Wayne_ is taking you home?” 

“Past tense. _Took_ me home. I’m sitting here with my feet up already.” 

Shit. “And Jason knows what happened?” 

“I’ll say. He’s _pissed_ too, like the break in was a personal insult to him or something.” 

Or something. Tim knew without a doubt he would be seeing Jason tonight whether he wants to or not. “It’s not like he could have done anything.” 

“That’s what I told him, but he still looked about ready to punch something. Do you need me at all tonight?” 

“No, get some sleep. I’ll crash here. I don’t want some adventurous soul to wander in and then wander out with our equipment.” 

“Okay,” Steph agrees. “I’ll be in early then. Be careful tonight.” 

“I will.” Tim hangs up and pockets his phone. Now it’s time to clean up. Sort of. He fully intends to leave glass shards across the entrance until the door is replaced. It’s not much warning, but that and the motion sensor of the alarm should keep people out when he tries to crash. 

It would not be the first time he’s fallen asleep here. He even keeps a pillow and a blanket in a storage bin. 

What should he do with Jason when he gets here? That’s the million dollar question. Underneath though, Tim wonders why he feels so resistant to seeing him today. He knows all he has to do is tell the man he’s not interested and he won’t push. Jason isn’t like that. 

So what is it? 

Tim stops short when he enters the front of the shop. Standing there amidst all the glass is the man who has been dominating his thoughts. And wow, Steph was right. The tuxedo looks all kinds of delicious on Jason, emphasizing his broad shoulders while somehow disguising just how thick his muscled thighs are. The tie hangs loosely around the open collar and his hair is an absolute mess. 

If he weren’t so completely and utterly _done_ with everything tonight, he’d probably invite Jason back into the kitchen where he could turn the man into even more of a wreck. 

“Tim—,” Jason tries to say, but Tim cuts him off. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The look Jason gives him is clear exasperation. “Where else should I be?” 

“I don’t know, perhaps that big party up at your house? The one with all the kids?” Tim walks around Jason to set his dustpan on the counter. He’ll drag out a trashcan when Jason leaves. 

“The kids were already on their way back into the city when you left. Most of them have this thing called a bedtime.” 

Tim nods absently as he starts to sweep. The faster this is done, the better. “Jason, I’m exhausted. I’ve had a very long week and while I’m sure you’re just as tired from your trip, you at least got to sleep on your flight home. Please, just go so I can finish here and grab a nap.” 

It sounds harsher than Tim meant it to be. Oops. 

The silence is deafening under the soft _swoosh_ of the broom. “Are you planning to sleep here with your door busted all to hell like that?” Jason asks finally. 

Tim should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. The man is a Bat after all. “Yes, and the alarm on. I have a lot of equipment I’d rather not lose to someone who doesn’t have to waste time breaking the door.” 

“Then I’ll stay here with you.” 

The broom clatters to the floor as Tim squares off against Jason. “Why? I don’t get it. I’m little more than a plaything to you, so why are you going to all this effort?” he asks, the words he would normally filter spilling out in a rush. Inside, he reels as it finally clicks why he feels so pissy tonight. It has nothing to do with being tired and everything to do with being wanted by someone who can keep his loneliness at bay. Who is quite possibly just as lonely as he is. 

Fuck. Tim wants to bury his head in the sand. This is not happening. Not now. 

Jason’s face clouds up, hands clenching as he visibly holds himself back. “ _Plaything?_ Is that what you think you are?” 

“Well, it would be nice to say we’re friends, but most friends don’t fuck like we do.” 

It was though he struck Jason in the face, so great is Jason’s apparent shock. He grows still and looms over Tim. “Is that what you think we do?” he asks in a dangerously low tone. 

“When have you ever given me reason to think otherwise?” Tim manages to reply, keeping his voice level. “Right from the start, you made it plain you wanted in my pants. You got that and so much more, from a completely willing partner I might add. But never once have you give me a reason to believe I’m anything more than a decent fuck.” 

“Are you even listening to the bullshit that’s coming outta your mouth?” Jason growls, eyes flashing under the fluorescent lights. “If all I wanted was a fuck, would I have cooked for you? _Worked_ for you? I’m a Wayne; if I just want to fuck you, all I have to do is crook my finger and you’d bend over to take my cock.” 

A number of responses flash through Tim’s brain, each one more scathing and hurtful than the next. Jason was no Wayne. He was born and raised in Crime Alley amongst the lowest of the low. A true diamond in the rough who has been given the chance to shine brighter than the dim stars in Gotham’s night sky. 

Tim runs a hand through his hair and grips it tightly for a moment, focusing on the slight sting and remembering how it feels when Jason tugs on it. He can’t deal with this anymore tonight. He’s done, mentally and physically. “Jason, I don’t want to argue right now. I’m exhausted. I just want to finish cleaning and get some sleep.” 

“Let me help you, Tim.” Jason shoves away from the counter and closes the distance between them. He grips Tim’s chin firmly and forces him to look up. “I’m here because I _care_ about you, you fucking moron. Yeah, this may have started out as just wanting to lick your frosting, but I keep coming back because of _you._ ” 

He wants to fall into the web Jason is weaving, to feel wanted and needed by this incredible man. But Tim has learned something over the course of these last few weeks. Caring for (not loving, no, his mind shies away from that) a hero is stressful and emotionally draining. It’s not as though he can call Alfred for a status update when Jason is gone. If whatever it is between them has even the remotest chance of working, Tim needs to come clean. 

It is a massive risk for them both. What will Jason think, learning that Tim has known who he really is for years? Does he even want the same things as him? 

Tim gazes levelly at Jason. He looks so earnest and determined as he waits for his response that it makes him believe there’s a chance he does. That Jason is willing to fight for this if he digs in his heels. 

“I care about you too,” Tim admits. He draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “But there’s something really important I need to tell you.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Tell me what?” 

Tim’s heart starts to race, a last ditch effort by his body to give him the brainpower needed to get the words out of his mouth. He takes hold of Jason’s hand and removes it from his chin, but he doesn’t let it go. “I know you’re Redwing.” 

To his credit, Jason doesn’t even flinch. “Right,” he drawls. “Tim, I think you’re a little sleep deprived.” 

“Oh, I am,” Tim agrees. He forges on. “But I know I’m right.” 

“Really? How so?” 

“Because I figured out that Dick Grayson was Robin when I was nine years old.” 

Jason’s grip on his hand tightens, the only sign his words are affecting him at all. “Okay, suppose I buy this tale. _How_ did you figure it out?”

Tim launches into a story that has never once passed his lips. About how as a young boy he went to the circus with his parents and met an acrobat who promised to do a quadruple somersault just for him. He spoke of how that night ended in tragedy, with the acrobat’s parents falling to their deaths when their ropes snapped. “I kept tabs on Dick after I heard Mr. Wayne took him in. Sometimes I saw him at society events it was okay for kids to attend. When I was nine, I caught a clip on one of those paparazzi TV shows of Robin. They were running a brief segment on local urban myths. The video was absolute crap even if they did try to clean it up, but it wasn’t the person I recognized. It was what he did that struck me the most.”

“What did he do?” Jason prods when Tim pauses to gather his thoughts. 

“He did a quadruple somersault. There’s only person in the world who can do it. Dick Grayson. After I figured that out, the rest was easy.” Tim bites his lip, stopping the flow of words. 

There. He’d done it. No going back now. 

Jason places his hands on Tim’s shoulders, holding him firmly in place as he stares intently at him. “Are you telling me a nine year old boy figured out one of the most closely guarded secrets on the planet?” 

Tim nods. “If you’re referring to Batman, yes. He goes to great pains to hide it. Superman on the other hand…a pair of glasses? Really?” 

A heavy hand covers his mouth faster than Tim can blink. “I think that’s enough tonight. You’re tired and obviously getting to the point where you’re not thinkin’ straight.”

What? Tim stiffens and jerks himself away from Jason. “You think I’m making this all up? I’m exhausted, but I’m not stupid. Jason, I have never, _ever_ , spoken about this to anyone before. If you don’t believe me, fine. I was trying to be honest with you, because if you want whatever this is between us to work, then you need to be honest with me.” 

“I don’t think this is the time or place to be having this conversation. You don’t have a door right now, remember?” 

Tim’s mouth snaps shut. Son of a bitch. Had he been speaking too loudly? He doesn’t think so, but Jason is right. All that’s keeping the rest of the world out of his little shop is a piece of plastic. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re right. I’m just…” 

“You’re tired, Tim.” Jason hauls him back in and plants a tender kiss on his forehead. “Go take a nap. I’ll finish cleaning this up.” 

There isn’t anything Tim can do but nod. He’s blown it. He knows he has. Goddammit, why did he say it? Had he really misread things so badly? What’s going to happen now? Jason would be fully within his rights to never see him again after this little bomb. Fuck. 

Tim lets Jason direct him into the kitchen and, under his watchful eye, gets his blanket and pillow out of the storage bin. Jason doesn’t comment about it, which says a lot about where this is all heading. He makes a little pallet under his desk and lays down. Through bleary eyes Tim watches Jason turn off the light and close the door, leaving it open just a crack. This is the last time he’s going to see Jason, he knows it. It hurts so bad that he doesn’t want the same thing as him. 

So much for that gamble. 

As Tim falls into a fitful sleep, he swears that he hears the low tone of Jason’s voice speaking to someone. “B? You won’t believe what I just heard…” 

~*~*~

The next day Tim decides is quite possibly one of the worst he’s had in a while. Jason is gone when he wakes up to the alarm the man apparently set for him. No note, no nothing, not that Tim expects anything after the mess he made of things last night. 

Stephanie tries to get the story out of him when she arrives an hour later with breakfast and coffee, but he refuses to say a word other than that he and Jason had a disagreement. This isn’t something Steph can help with. It’s all his fault.

“Do I need to call him and tell him to stop being an ass?” the blonde asks pointedly. 

Tim loves that her loyalty is unwaveringly with him even if she doesn’t know all the details. “No, I’m pretty sure this is all on me.” 

“Oh, Tim.” Steph wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. “Are you guys done then?” 

He sighs into her freshly washed hair. God, he has to stink to high heaven at this point. “I don’t know.” 

Steph squeezes him, then draws back, hands still on his arms as she gives him a serious look. “You know what’s going to make you feel better?” 

“The ability to rewind the last twelve or so hours?” 

“A shower. Go home, Tim. Get cleaned up, and for God’s sake, brush your teeth.” 

Tim laughs weakly because what else can he do? He put himself out there and got rejected. 

This is why he doesn’t date. It always hurts when things fall apart. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur. It takes a few phone calls to get someone out on a Saturday to replace his door, and as soon as that was done, Tim calls it a day. He and Stephanie already have a plan in place to get things back up and running tomorrow, even if it will take at least a week to get a new display case. That’s fine, they can still take the truck out and Tim can set out a tray with a single cupcake of each design for any walk-ins to choose from while keeping the rest in back. They can make this work. Gotham and a broken heart are not going to keep Tim Drake down. 

As he walks home in the late afternoon sun, Tim decides to allow himself one night to wallow in his misery. He deserves that much. A quick stop by the store gets him a six pack of his favorite microbrew and he swings by a Chinese restaurant that makes what he swears are the best noodles in town. Literally, since they make their noodles right there. 

Properly fortified, Tim brings his prizes home. Another shower and a change of clothes later, he settles onto his sofa to binge watch Netflix. There are some shows he needs to catch up on. 

He does not think about Jason. Much. 

Three hours later, he’s finished half his stir-fried noodles and three bottles of beer. Sleep sounds like a great idea, lightweight that he is, so Tim manages to put away his food before returning to the sofa where he puts on a BBC nature documentary to fall asleep to. 

He cuddles under his afghan and is out in under a minute. 

~*~*~ 

It’s late when Tim wakes up. He feels like he should still be asleep, but something has drawn him out of that sweet oblivion where he doesn’t think about Jason. Everything is quiet, so he decides it must be his faintly hurting head that woke him. Some headache meds and water will fix that, as will sleeping in his bed rather than the living room. 

Tim opens his eyes blearily as he sits up. Then he opens them wider and jerks upright, the afghan pooling around his waist. 

Standing in front of his muted TV is Batman, outlined by the glow of the screen behind him. 

Oh, shit. Why…Oh. _Oh_. Jason must have told him everything. Of course, he would, the little bomb Tim dropped on him last night impacts everything his family works so hard for. God, how could he have been so thoughtless? 

His inner fanboy cowers in the corner of his mind, wailing in fear even though Tim is reasonably certain Batman won’t actually hurt him. Scare the crap out of him, yes. Intimidate him, hell yes. This is very intimidating, yup. Babbling seems like a stupid thing to do right about now, so Tim keeps his mouth shut and waits for Batman to say something.

And waits. 

And waits. 

Seriously? Is he waiting for Tim to speak up first? He has not had enough sleep for this. Tim shoves the afghan off his lap and swings his legs to the floor. “Would you like some coffee? If you’re just going to stand there, then I’m going to need some.” 

Batman doesn’t move. If anything, he frowns harder without even moving his face. 

Now there’s a trick Tim would love to learn. He makes his way into the kitchen and flips on the overhead light by the sink to see by. Coffee prep is something he could do in his sleep, so while the little pot is brewing, Tim takes two mugs out of the cabinet and sets them on the counter. 

“Do you take cream or sugar?” he calls out, not really expecting an answer.

He doesn’t get one. 

Black it is. 

Tim pours two cups and returns to the living room. He doesn’t try and hand Batman his cup, but he does place it on the coffee table in front of him before sitting back down on the sofa. This is by far the strangest interview he’s ever been part of. It must be a neat trick, using your reputation to get everything you need to know out of a person without having to say a word. 

This could go on all night. “What do you want to know?” Tim asks eventually. 

“Start from the beginning.” Batman’s voice is a low growl, one that makes Tim’s throat hurt just listening to it.

So Tim starts there, telling Batman how he met Dick, the promised quadruple somersault, and the tragedy that occurred later. He tells him about how he kept tabs on the former acrobat through the news, that he just wanted to be sure the boy was happy. Then he tells him what happened when he was nine… “I’m not sure there are many people who could have made that connection,” he admits slowly. “I mean, sure, the people at the circus probably can if they ever happen to see Robin, or Nightwing now, do that. But outside of there? I don’t think I would have if I hadn’t been there that night and saw it myself.” As well as everything that happened after, but there’s no need to rehash that again. 

“You were very young.” 

Tim nods. “I was almost four. My mom always said I have a mind like a steel trap. That when something goes in, it’s not coming out. I think that’s part of the reason why I didn’t forget. I couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to.” He sips his coffee, debating about the next part. This is where he could get into some serious trouble. 

Well, this is supposed to be a confession of sorts. And it does feel good to get everything off his chest after holding it so close for years. 

“When I figured out who was under Robin’s mask, I decided I needed to see Dick in action again for myself. We lived in the city, and Mom and Dad were never around much, so it was easy to sneak out…” Tim tells Batman about how he used to map his and Robin’s patrol routes, how he would hide and wait half the night for even a glimpse of his hero. As he got better and grew more confident, that was when he started bringing a camera. 

If Batman was rigid before, then those words made him even more so. 

“Those first photos were horrible,” Tim admits with a wry shake of his head. “It took a lot of practice to learn how to shoot at night, just as it took a lot of trial and error to learn to develop my own pictures because these were not something I wanted to take to the convenience store and have just anyone see. But I got better and by the time I did, there was a new Robin.” 

Jason. The Robin he got all the best photos of. 

“I took my pictures for a little over three years,” Tim continues. “And then my parents were murdered in a botched kidnapping. My life was turned upside down for a time, but when it became clear that I was going to end up in foster care since I had no family to take me in, I knew I couldn’t keep any of those pictures. I couldn’t risk it, even if no one knows the faces beneath those masks.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I took them up to the roof of my parent’s townhouse and burned them. Each and every one.” It still hurt, even after a decade and more having passed. But it hurt like ripping off a bandaid hurt, and no longer tore at his soul. “All my negatives, I soaked in bleach.” 

Batman gestures to the pictures hanging on the walls. The black and white photos are taken from various angles high above Gotham. “You didn’t stop taking pictures completely.” 

Tim shakes his head. “No, but I didn’t take those until I’d graduated from culinary school and had my own place. I like photography, it’s something I’m good at. But it’s a hobby now. A skill I can put to use in my shop for my website.”

“You understand the concerns I have.” It isn’t a question and Tim doesn’t pretend to take it as such. 

Still, he knows he’s expected to answer. “I do. Honestly, I wasn’t planning to say a word about this to Jason at all. Until last night, I thought what we had was just a mutually beneficial arrangement between two consenting adults. He’d never given me a reason to believe otherwise.” 

“Until last night,” Batman states, echoing Tim’s words. “Why did you tell him this?” 

Tim hedges and sips his coffee as he tries to gather his thoughts. For all that opening his mouth had been a mistake, the reason why he did hasn’t changed. On that one fact, he still feels like he’s on solid ground. 

“Because last night he said he cares about me. That what keeps him coming back is me.” No need to mention the frosting part. Nope. “I’ve known for a little while now that I like him more than what our arrangement calls for. I figured that if he wants a real relationship, then he has a right to what I know so that he doesn’t have to lie to me when the shit hits the fan or he gets all battered and bruised and needs to cancel plans we’ve made. I can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone who tries to date one of you guys.” 

“It isn’t. Especially for someone like you who cannot protect himself.” 

The implication is clear as day. Tim tightens his fingers around his warm mug. “I know I’m putting myself in harm’s way if Jason and I keep seeing each other. I know I can be used against him or as a means to hurt him. I know all of this. But isn’t it up to us to decide if that’s a chance we want to take?” 

“Yeah, B, stop stickin’ your nose in our business.” 

Tim almost spills his coffee as Jason comes striding around from behind the sofa in full Redwing regalia. It’s an impressive sight, from the battered leather jacket to the dark gray uniform underneath that fits him like a glove. How long has he been here? Oh, shit, what has he heard? Tim tells himself to get a grip. Everything he’s said to Batman is stuff he plans to tell Jason, if the other man ever gives him a chance. 

He’s here though, so that has to mean something. Right? 

Batman doesn’t move, but it’s clear when he turns his attention on his son because that weighted gaze no longer sits like a ton of bricks on Tim. “I am trying to ascertain what this man’s intentions are towards all of us.” 

Jason snorts incredulously. “No, you’re trying to be a dad for a change and scare away a potential boyfriend. B, Tim _knows_ and hasn’t said a word to anyone. Do you have any idea how much easier this makes things for me? I don’t have to fucking _lie_ for a change.” 

Tim clutches his coffee mug, afraid to make even the slightest of noises for fear of interrupting what is clearly a very important argument. Inside, his heart sings with joy because Jason is fighting with Batman for _him_. If that’s not a sign from the heavens, he doesn’t know what is. 

“What happens if it doesn’t work out?” Batman says to Jason. “Think about the damage Tim can do in a single moment of petty spite.” 

“I’d never do that,” Tim interrupts. This is something he has to speak up about. “What you guys do is so much bigger than anything I deal with. You’re important. You all mean something to the world. For however long this lasts between Jason and me, I’m glad to be able to support him in whatever way I can. And when it ends, well, I’ll at least know that for a time, I made him happy. Because I can’t imagine you guys get that a lot.” 

Both men turn and stare at Tim, heavy and weighted and wow, this must be the same feeling that makes bad guys quiver in their shoes. But Tim holds firm and doesn’t drop his gaze. 

“B, you’re done here,” Jason finally announces. “You got what you came for. Tim won’t spill the beans. Now get out.” 

“Redwing—” 

“Get outta my business, B. I can either air dirty laundry about you and Catwoman or toss you out that window. Take your pick.” 

Batman looms over his son, but Jason is clearly having none of it as he just stares him down. All the long years of exposure must make him immune. Tim finds that impressive because wow. Just wow. 

That heavy gaze settles back on him for a moment before Batman walks away without another word, brushing past the sofa towards the window leading out to the fire escape. Tim feels a faint rush of cold air on his neck and then nothing. He turns around to look, just to be sure. The only thing he sees is the faint movement of his cheap window blinds. 

“So that’s what being interrogated by Batman feels like.” 

Jason snorts and picks up the coffee Batman never even touched. “Sort of. There’s usually a lot more punching and getting tossed off the side of a building involved.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Tim feels faint at the thought. Although jumping off the side of a building doesn’t sound too bad if he’s with the right person…kind of like skydiving perhaps. 

An awkward silence falls over the room, neither of them seemingly able to start the conversation that needs to happen. Tim fiddles with his mug and steals glances at Jason, who seems lost in thought as he drinks the not-so-warm coffee. What’s going on in his head? How does Jason feel about all this? He apparently likes the idea of him knowing who he is if his statement to Batman was legit. 

Tim takes a deep breath and breaks the ice. “How much of that did you hear?” 

“All of it. I followed B here and snuck in through your bedroom while he loomed over you like a creepy fuck until you woke up.” 

“How long did that take?” 

Jason chuckles quietly. “About half an hour. Color me impressed.” 

“I may have had a few beers earlier tonight.” 

“Lightweight,” Jason teases, but there’s a fondness to it. “You were quite the little stalker once upon a time, weren’t ya?”

Tim nods, feeling steadier now that they’re talking about his past. “I guess you could call it that. At the time though, I was so incredibly lonely that sneaking out for even a glimpse of my heroes was enough to negate the creep factor.”

Jason walks around the coffee table and takes a seat in the recliner. Under the jacket, Tim can just make out the stylized red bat on his broad chest. “You’ve mentioned before that your parents were never around that much.” 

“No, they weren’t.” Tim takes a sip from his mug. It’s almost empty. “I had a hard time mourning for people who were never there. I got lucky when I was placed with Grandma Ives. She _gets_ kids in a way I’d never seen before. Probably because she had six of her own, plus over a dozen grandkids. She helped me figure out what my grief was really about and gave me something constructive to do while I worked my way through it.” 

“She the one who taught you to bake?” 

“Yes.” Tim has many fond memories of Grandma Ives. Perhaps one day, he can introduce Jason to her.

“Did you really take all those pictures of me?” The question seemingly comes out of left field, but Tim has a feeling it’s a precursor to something bigger. 

“I did.”

“Is it… Is this the reason you want to be with me?” Jason gestures to his uniform, to the mask he’s still wearing. 

Tim is shaking his head before Jason finishes speaking. “No. Not at all. In the beginning, I was shocked that someone like you even spared a glance in my direction. I kept telling myself not to look too deeply into it, to not get attached, that we were both getting something we needed. But when we went out for dinner to that bar, it felt like a date. I wanted it to be a real date so badly that I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t.” 

Jason sighs heavily and leans forward, his solid arms resting on his thickly muscled thighs. “I think of that night as a date. It was all so clear in my head what I was doing, sweeping you off your feet and romancing the crap out of you, but in hindsight, I can see why you believed what you did.” He sounds defeated, which no. No. Tim is not letting this happen. 

Standing, Tim sets aside his coffee and kneels in front of Jason, resting his hands over the man’s gloved ones and forcing him to look at him. This close, the lenses in his mask are disconcerting, but Tim knows Jason’s eyes are on him. “We’re both idiots,” he pronounces. “Doing everything ass backwards from the way we should have.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fucked up,” Jason tries, but Tim shushes him. 

“Me neither. But I think we have a good reason to want to do this right. If you want to, that is.” Tim trails off, his momentary boldness tapering into uncertainty. 

Jason grabs hold of his hands, holding them firmly in his gloved ones. “I want to. Christ, I want to. But the risks…Tim, already the thought of something happening to you hurts like hell. If we go further…” 

Tim raises their joined hands and presses a kiss into the material of Jason’s gloves. “I understand. Just know that I’m willing to take those risks. But really, the choice is yours, not mine. What you do, who you are…it’s all so much bigger than just me.” His confidence shocks him, even if it is nice to know he can bring it out when he needs to, despite the less than stellar circumstances.

“I need some time to think.” 

“I respect that.” Tim tries to stand, but Jason rises along with him and draws him in close, pressing his forehead against the top of Tim’s head. 

“Tim, this isn’t good-bye. I _will_ let you know what I decide. And in person because you deserve that much, even if it’s not what either of us want.” 

It’s more than Tim can reasonably expect. “I appreciate it.” 

Jason pulls back a bit and runs his fingers over Tim’s cheeks, seemingly memorizing the planes of his face. “I’ll see you soon.” He leans in and presses a brief kiss against Tim’s mouth. 

And then he’s gone, vanishing into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I have people freaking out on me, remember this...I'm a big fan of happy endings.


	10. Chapter 10

All things considered, Tim believes things worked out rather well, even if he and Jason are in some strange sort of limbo. There are some serious challenges to dating a vigilante hero, ones that he may say he’s ready to face head on, but Jason knows these better than he would. The consequences are much greater for him, which leaves Tim in a rather solemn mood even as he and Stephanie work their asses off at the bakery to get all their holiday orders filled.

While Tim may not have been able to schmooze at the charity event, his name did get bandied about. There is a definite uptick in special orders, several with names he hasn’t heard of in years, even if their owners don’t come and meet with him face to face. 

He’ll take it. Business is business and even without a display case for the better part of a week, it’s booming. 

Jason doesn’t text him. But that’s okay. Tim has his promise of seeing him face to face at least one more time even if he decides against pursuing a real relationship with him. In his little mental folder of all things Jason Todd, Tim has a bet with himself that Jason will wait until after the holidays are over before he approaches him with a decision. 

Stephanie is just glad they’ve come to an understanding, even if she doesn’t quite get why it has to be this way. 

Christmas comes and there is the usual last minute rush on Christmas Eve, but Tim leaves the shop happy that night. He heads home and cleans up, packs an overnight back, and then treks across town on the creaking subway to Grandma Ives’ house where he’s welcomed with open arms and warm smiles. 

That night, he stays up late with his best friend Ives ( _Call me Sebastian again and I will end you, Tim_ ) playing video games. The house is full of people, just as Grandma Ives prefers, but they’ve taken over the den and are out of the way of everyone else. 

The next day, Tim blearily helps with breakfast and later, after presents, shoos everyone out of the kitchen so he can get started with dinner. Grandma Ives is the only person who ignores him. There’s laughter and love and Tim can’t imagine himself being anywhere else today. 

On his way home that night, his phone chimes with a text from Jason. 

 _Merry Christmas._  

Tim smiles softly and pauses on the sidewalk to glance up at the cloudy sky. Is he up there on the rooftops, watching him as he makes his way home? It’s a nice thought, however unrealistic. He texts back. 

 _Merry Christmas._  

The next day is back to full throttle again as Tim prepares for New Year’s. For these next five days only, he goes all out with decorating, swirling different colors and making liberal use of edible glitter on everything. It’s fun and festive and his clientele love it. All that manic energy is channeled into his work so that he can end the year with a bang and start his New Year with a week off. A week of glorious nothing planned except for some game nights with Ives. 

On New Year’s Eve, he and Stephanie load up the truck earlier than usual for their final run of the year. 

“I have no doubt these will all sell out before six,” Stephanie is saying as she checks to make sure nothing got smooshed. 

“I’m sure of it,” Tim agrees and hands her the last tray. “Just be careful tonight. You’re going to get more cash than usual.” 

Steph is heading to Grant Park this evening, the main site for all of Gotham’s New Year’s festivities. “I know and as soon as I hit the limit I’m willing to carry, I’ll switch to cards only. I even have the sign ready.” She points to the garishly colored whiteboard, all done up in purple marker. 

They finish loading the truck and Stephanie hops down to wrap Tim in one of her gut-busting hugs. “Happy New Year, Tim.” 

“Happy New Year, Steph.” 

“Do you think you’ll hear from Jason tonight?” she asks, drawing back, but still keeping a hold of his shoulders. 

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. If I do, I’m sure it’ll be the same as he did on Christmas.” A single line of text and nothing more. 

“Perhaps you should be the one to take the initiative,” Steph says with a wink. 

There are so many reasons why Tim won’t do that, but he humors his friend. “We’ll see.”

“Right.” Steph clearly doesn’t believe him. Still, she doesn’t push. “Well, I will see you on the 2nd for the bank run and then after that, I don’t want to see your face for a week.” 

“Likewise,” Tim replies with a grin. “Now go make me some money.” 

“Aye-aye, sir!” Stephanie laughs as she jumps back into the truck. “We both know it’s my charming personality that rakes in the bucks around here.” 

Tim returns to the bakery to try and get some cleaning done. He’s moderately successful before a rush of last minute customers has him running for two solid hours. At the end of it all, he’s pleased to see he only has about a dozen cupcakes left. A glance at the clock shows it to be almost six, his regular closing time. It would be nice to not bring any of these home with him, so Tim decides to stay open for another hour. 

He’s in the back finishing dishes when he hears the door chime go off. Wiping off his hands on a mostly dry towel, Tim returns to the front of the shop. “Welcome in,” he says, plastering on his neutral smile. 

The smile grows into something more genuine when he sees who his customer is, even as butterflies start fluttering like mad in his stomach. 

Jason is standing in front of his new display case, a crooked smile of his own appearing when Tim enters. “You’re open late,” he comments. “Thought I’d have to knock.” 

“Those are all I have left,” Tim replies, stepping behind the counter. He feels more comfortable with a bit of space between them as the uncertainty rises within. Tonight most certainly is not the night he expected Jason to seek him out. It makes him unbalanced and unprepared for what is about to come. “I don’t have plans, so I figured I’d stay open an extra hour to try and sell them so I don’t have to bring any home.” 

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that,” Jason says and leans casually against the counter, eyes on Tim. “Will you go out with me tonight?” 

Tim bites his lip as he tries to squash down excitement and nervousness. This is it. This is the night Jason tells him his decision. Is it a yes? Would he really break his heart on New Year’s Eve? No, he wouldn’t do that. Jason has a flair for drama, but he’s not a total ass and telling him that he doesn’t want to date would be a real dick move on a night like tonight. 

“Yes,” Tim replies firmly. “But we’ll need to stop by my place because, well…” he gestures to his more stained than usual mess of an apron. There’s frosting and glitter all over the place and he’s positive he even has some in his hair. 

“You’re definitely shinier than usual,” Jason teases, eyeing Tim from top to bottom. 

“It’s all edible,” Tim retorts, then immediately flushes at the innuendo he inadvertently dropped. 

“Is that so? I may have to do something about that later.”

Tim’s heart soars. 

Jason tears his gaze away from Tim and returns it to the display case. “You said these are all you have left?” 

“Yup.” 

“I’ll take them off your hands then so we can get out of here. Box them up for me?” 

Tim does that while Jason locks up and closes the blinds. Soon enough, they’re on their way to Tim’s apartment. There is silence between them, but just like the last time, it’s not uncomfortable. Tim enjoys simply being close to Jason again, his taller form exuding strength and confidence as he walks down the sidewalk. 

So of course, it amuses Tim immensely when Jason goes all shy and awkward on him the moment they enter his apartment, barely even looking at him as he rushes into the kitchen to put his cupcakes in the fridge. 

“What’s wrong?” Tim asks as he takes off his shoes. He has not had a chance to screw up yet, so it can’t be him. 

Jason sends a level look his way and rests against the refrigerator door. “Do you have any idea how tempting you look right now?” 

Okay, so it is him. But it’s still not his fault. “Jason, I’m a baker by trade. I’m going to be covered in all kinds of things at the end of the day. It’s kind of a job hazard.”

“Yeah, I have nights like that too, but none of that shit is stuff I want to lick off.”

Oh. Tim starts laughing because it really is just too funny. “Well, give me a few minutes so I can wash up and remove the temptation for you.”

Jason mumbles something Tim doesn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“I said I didn’t have this problem before I met you. I never had this urge to randomly lick people.”

Tim keeps laughing. “Sounds like you may have discovered a new kink.”

“Only around you.”

Cue the flush he can never seem to keep under control around Jason. “I’ll go shower,” he stammers, cheeks burning. 

“Wait,” Jason says and strides back into the living room. He still seems on edge, nervous energy crackling around him. “Fuck, this is not how I wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” 

“This,” Jason gestures wildly. “I had everything planned. It was going to be great. I was going to make you dinner, show you a good time first and prove I’m not a fucking horndog. I even had a little speech.” 

Tim tries really hard not to grin because Jason is so flustered and annoyed at himself for what he is apparently considering a failure. “You’re being overdramatic. Let me clean up and you can give me this great speech of yours when I’m done.”

“That’s the problem.” Jason closes the distance between them and drags a searing hot finger along Tim’s throat, coming back with gold glitter along the tip. “I want to clean you up myself.” He raises his finger to his lips and pointedly licks it. 

There’s no mistaking the intent there but Tim wants something to be crystal clear before he acts on his own burning need to drag Jason into the shower with him. He can only assume so much and really doesn’t want to make an ass out of himself if he’s totally misreading things. “Can I get an abridged version of your speech?” 

“You’re taking all the fun out of it,” Jason pouts.

“You’re the one who wants to make me even filthier than I already am.” 

Desire flashes hotly in Jason’s eyes. “The short version is that I decided I want to give this a try. I want to be your boyfriend and not just your fuck buddy.”

Inwardly, Tim crows in delight. This could not have been an easy decision, not at all, and he’s positive the longer version of this speech includes the reasons why Jason decided to give them a chance. He wants to hear it. Later. Much later.

He grins. “Good. Now you can clean me up.” With that, Tim races towards the bathroom, managing to evade Jason’s playful grab and slaps on the light with a stray hand.

Jason catches and pins him against the sink. “Christ, do you have any idea what the fuck you do to me?”

Tim can feel that interest pressed against him. “It’s probably the same thing that makes me want to climb all over you and never let go.”

“Shit.” Words seem to abandon Jason as he starts attacking Tim’s neck, dragging his tongue up and down the column. Tim doubts he has that much frosting and glitter there but lets it slide. Clothing needs to get gone though, and he tugs at the hem of his shirt, trying to draw it up and over his head.

Jason parts ways with his neck long enough for Tim to toss the shirt aside, his hands instantly running tracks down the length of his body. Tim still isn’t sure if Jason actually plans to get in the shower with him, so he avoids tugging at the soft sweater he’s wearing. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking his fingers under the hem and pressing his fingers into the small of Jason’s back.

The action forces Jason to arch into Tim and rock his hips forward, his dick already hard within the confines of his jeans. Yes. Oh, yes. Very much yes. All the yes. Tim starts fumbling with his belt, only to have Jason’s hand take over. Jason switches sides and nibbles lightly at a sensitive spot by Tim’s ear.

Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s broad shoulders and groans as he keeps at it. His pants are shoved over his hips and Jason cups him through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Want you so bad,” Jason whispers as he returns to pay homage to Tim’s waiting mouth. “Need to feel you, be _in_ you.”

“Yes,” Tim says with a moan, and wriggles his way out of his boxers, kicking them and his pants off to the side.

This time Jason groans, hands roaming all over Tim’s body, down the curve of his bottom and onto the backs of his thighs before dancing back up. There is something entirely erotic about the situation, Tim thinks, what with him naked except for his socks and Jason still completely dressed. He wants to see Jason’s skin, feel it under his fingers again.

Jason pulls away far too soon, but when he does, it’s to remove his sweater, revealing a spectacular physique that almost makes Tim want to start hitting the gym. But what has him raise his hand is the roadmap of scars across Jason’s torso. Some are deep and old, while others are still somewhat pink. None are particularly new, a fact Tim is deeply grateful for because it means whatever Jason has done since they last saw each other hasn’t hurt him all that bad. Even the bruises on his side are a mottled yellow indicating their age.

He traces a finger gently over a mark that looks suspiciously like teeth. “You’ve been doing this for a very long time, haven’t you?”

“Over a decade,” Jason replies quietly. “Tim, I…”

“I know it’s not all fun and games. That what you do is dangerous and hurts you more often than not. But if you’ll let me, I’ll try to make the burden a little easier to bear.”

Jason surges forward, capturing Tim’s mouth and his hands, devouring him under the onslaught of strong emotion. Tim means every word he said. He wants to help, wants to be there for him, wants to do whatever he can to ease Jason’s pain.

Drawing back, Jason cups Tim’s face in his hand. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Tim turns his head enough to place a gentle kiss on the palm of his hand. “You commissioned a cake,” he replies with a cheeky grin.

“Smartass. Start the shower,” Jason orders, releasing Tim as he unbuckles his own belt. “Get in and wait for me.”

Oh. _Yes._ Tim scrambles out of his socks and into the shower. Turning on the water, he yelps when the cold spray hits him square in the face. Jason joins him a moment later and plants his hands over Tim’s hips, the firmness of his erection pressing into the small of his back. “Lemme wash you, Timmy. Get you all nice and clean.”

It sounds like Jason wants to do something entirely different, but then he reaches for the shampoo. His fingers in Tim’s hair, brushing against his scalp, is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He teases Tim about the citrus scent of his conditioner and Tim tells him to fuck off because he happens to _like_ having longer than normal hair and that means proper hair care products are needed.

“Yeah? Well, let’s see what this body wash stinks like.”

Jason works the body wash into a thick lather, scrubbing every inch of Tim’s body with his bare hands, paying particularly close attention to his nipples, twisting them into hard little nubs that drag moans from Tim with each touch. His hands move down and gently palm his balls, rolling them between his fingers and tugs lightly. Tim shouts and slams a hand against the shower stall to brace himself as his knees wobble. Jason takes advantage of the new angle and runs soapy hands over the soft skin of Tim’s ass, spreading his cheeks wide.

“Oh, lookit that pretty little hole. All nice and pink, just waitin’ for me to fill it up.”

Tim feels Jason press the head of his cock against him, rocking back and forth, but never doing more than sliding over his entrance. It dawns on him that Jason isn’t wearing a condom, so he must have something else in mind to get them off.

He does. Another squirt of body wash to create a fresh lather and Jason grips Tim’s already weeping length in one soapy hand while he slicks up his own cock with the other. Tim braces himself against the cool porcelain with both hands while Jason ruts against him, the sharp snap of his hips driving Tim forward into the tight circle of his hand.

It’s not enough and Tim groans in frustration as he keeps riding that razor’s edge and never quite manages to fall over it.

Something hard presses against his rim, pushing in through the ring of muscle. Tim clamps down against the intrusion and recognizes it as one of Jason’s fingers. Another one joins it a moment later and Jason curls them, brushing over a particular spot.

Tim loses it and comes with a cry that is almost lost over the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the dull hiss of the shower.

Jason removes his fingers and grabs Tim’s ass with both hands, squeezing the cheeks together while he fucks the cleft between them. “God _dammit_ ,” he swears, long and low as he comes, painting Tim’s back with a white hot mess.

They’re both quiet for a moment, catching their breath and calming down racing hearts over what was an undeniably intimate moment.

“Next time we do that,” Tim pants heavily, “There better be a condom involved.”

Jason chuckles weakly as he drags Tim into the now lukewarm water to rinse them both off. “Next time, I’m making sure I leave a whole box of them here.”

~*~*~

A few hours later, Tim finds himself looking out a wall-to-wall window towards Grant Park. It is all lit up as people mill around listening to music and eating while they wait for the fireworks display to ring in the New Year, but everything is silent around him, save for Jason puttering around in the kitchen of the Wayne penthouse at the top of Wayne Tower, cleaning up after the delicious dinner he’d prepared.

The man not only has a flair for the dramatic, but also over-the-top gestures from the looks of it. Considering his mentor and father figure dresses up like a bat and scares the bejeezus out of criminals and bakery shop owners, Tim supposes it’s something he should try and get used to. If this kind of understated elegance and luxury wasn’t something he had grown up with, it would be overwhelming. As it is, there is something vaguely comfortable about it, like putting on a favorite jacket that has been half forgotten when it’s no longer needed in the summer.

“Here we go,” Jason announces as he returns to the living room with a small plate of dessert and a bottle of white wine. Two wine glasses hang loosely from his fingers. “Alfred mentioned you like lemon bars…”

Tim grins as he takes the glasses from Jason and sets them on the coffee table. “I love them. Are these his recipe?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I can crack that nut and get one of his secret recipes out of him.” Jason sits down beside him, handing Tim the wine to pour while he fusses with the plate. 

“One of these days, you’ll have to let me cook for you,” Tim comments as he accepts a little wedge of lemony goodness. 

Jason laughs at him. “I thought pastry chefs weren’t all that great at the savory side of things.” 

Tim shrugs in response. “A lot aren’t, but it’s not as though we’re incompetent at it. The issue is with improvisation. Pastry requires a lot of exact measurements and temperatures while a regular chef can toss this and that into a pan and it turns out great.” He sips his wine. It complements the lemon bars perfectly, with a clean and crisp taste with a dry finish he enjoys. “I do make a mean chicken pot pie though. I’m great with pie crusts.” 

“I just bet you are. Fine then, you can make dinner for me some night.” 

“Deal.” 

They lapse into silence and finish the small dessert. The fireworks will be starting soon and Tim wonders what else Jason has in store for tonight since his original plans were derailed earlier by a bit of edible glitter and frosting. He’d had to shampoo his hair three times to get it all out. 

Jason lets Tim take the empty plate back to the kitchen to wash up, humoring him. 

As Tim sets it in the drying rack, he glances back towards the living room and spots his new boyfriend pacing in front of the window, fiddling with his wine glass as he sneaks glances in Tim’s direction. The whole situation is amusing as hell. Somehow, _he_ is the calm one here rather than Jason. Thinking back to when they first met and how his inner fanboy about passed out from excitement, the change is surprising. Is he nervous? A little, but now that the element of uncertainty is out of the equation, he’s _happy_ , which is a definite improvement. 

Tim returns to the living room and sits back down on the leather couch. “You’re trying to figure out how to give that little speech of yours, aren’t you?” he asks dryly. 

Bingo. A faint hint of red appears high on Jason’s cheeks and he looks away quickly, eyes downcast before he returns his attention to Tim. “Yeah. Christ, I feel as nervous as a kid asking his first crush out on a date.” 

“You shouldn’t be. I mean, how many of those kids have already had sex with said crush before asking them out?” 

Jason snorts in clear amusement. “I know, I know.” He takes a deep breath and returns to the couch. “Okay, so I’m just gonna jump right in and word vomit on you. Feel free to stop me at any time.” 

Tim nods in encouragement, very curious to see how Jason came to his decision. 

“Right. So…” Jason sighs and twists the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “To be honest, I wasn’t going to do this. That first week, all I heard from Bruce was how this was a bad idea, that it wasn’t gonna work, that you’d up and tell the media or the police about what we do if we ended on bad terms. Dick wasn’t any help because he’s never really been in this situation before. All the people he’s been involved with are masks. Damian’s a little shit, so his opinion doesn’t count, mostly because his only complaint against you is that ugly ass truck of yours.” 

“It is rather colorful, but that’s how it gets noticed and stands out in a crowd,” Tim comments when Jason pauses to pour some more wine. 

“Marketing 101, right there,” Jason agrees and tops off Tim’s glass. “Anyway, it wasn’t until Christmas that Bruce gave me any time to even fucking _breathe_. I was helping Alfred make dinner when he pulls me to the side and sits me down for afternoon tea. Essentially, he cuts through all the doom and gloom and asks me what my answer to you would have been if I wasn’t Redwing and just Bruce’s son. I told him I’d go out with you in a heartbeat and proceeded to rattle off the reasons why like a lovesick puppy.” 

The sentiment warms Tim’s heart. It also sounds like he owes a massive thank you to Alfred for stepping in. 

Jason continues after sipping his wine. Liquid courage, right there. “Alfie just sits back and gives me this look like the answer is so obvious but I’m apparently still on the thickheaded side, so I remind him that I’m more than just Bruce’s son. I swear to you, Tim, I saw Alfred roll his eyes. He then goes on to point out that when it comes to matters of the heart, we’re all idiots and do I want to live my life taking emotional cues from a man who dresses up like a bat and can’t commit to a real relationship because he puts his mission before everything else?” 

The thank you grows to catering the next Wayne event of Alfred’s choice for free. Tim’s eyes widen. “Did he really say that?” 

“Hell no, I’m taking some liberties, but that’s it in a nutshell.” Jason sets down his wine and takes hold of Tim’s hand. “That night at dinner, I told Bruce I was going to live my life on my terms and that included dating who I want to date. Tim, I know this isn’t going to be easy. There are some nights I’m going to come in so banged up that I can barely walk. Other nights, I just flat out won’t show up. But at least with you, I don’t have to lie.” 

“Is that the only reason you want to do this?” Tim has to ask. He needs to be crystal clear on this point because if it is the only reason Jason feels like he can do this, then that is not a very good basis to start a relationship. 

“Fuck no,” Jason replies vehemently. “Did you forget that I kinda thought we were already dating before you dropped your little bomb on me? Because I sure as hell didn’t.” 

Tim huffs a small laugh because yes, he had forgotten. Or rather, didn’t think it to be important. “And here I thought you just wanted me for my ass and my frosting.” 

Jason is unamused. “Tim, there are a lot of things I like about you. It just so happens that I also like your ass and your frosting.” He tugs lightly on Tim’s hand and he takes the hint, setting down his wine to sit closer. “I know I fucked this up earlier, but seriously, will you go out with me?” 

“I will,” Tim says and leans in to press a kiss against the corner of Jason’s mouth. “We’ve got some stuff to figure out first though. I don’t even want to know what kind of spyware I’m going to end up with in my shop or at home that’s supposed to keep tabs on me.” 

“Nothing that’s going to invade your privacy. Or mine. But you are getting a new security system, I can guarantee that.” 

Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck and kisses him again, lingering against his mouth with the faintest of touches. “As long as my premiums don’t go up.” 

Jason chuckles and guides Tim onto his lap. “I think we can negotiate that.” He closes the gap between them, strong fingers tugging at Tim’s hair as he seals his mouth over Tim’s. Jason’s free hand settles on his hip, lazily tracing patterns into the denim. 

Yes, they will have to negotiate this. Thoroughly. But right now, all Tim wants to do is lose himself in Jason’s strong arms and feel the press of his body beneath his. 

Outside, a lone firework shoots into the air, exploding with a burst of radiant color. Others follow and the city rings in the New Year. Jason draws them apart enough to watch the display, the whole reason why he brought them here to Wayne Tower in the first place. 

“It’s the best seat in town,” he murmurs into Tim’s hair. 

Tim has to agree, considering he is still straddling one of Jason’s thighs. Turning his back on the vibrant colors outside, he cradles Jason’s face in his hands, reveling in the fact that the man’s focus is solely on him. That he matters to this incredible person. It is not something that he will make light of considering what Jason went through to make this happen in the first place. Defying his father, his mentor can’t have been easy. It makes him all the more eager to return the trust and faith that is being given to him. 

“Happy New Year, Jason,” Tim says, pressing his lips gently against Jason’s. 

“Happy New Year, Tim,” Jason replies, hauling him in close again. “Wanna go make some noise?” 

Does he even need to ask? “Who says we need to move?” Tim gives Jason a sly smile and digs two small items out of his pocket. “I got what we need right here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments. They really mean a lot and help keep the creative energy coming. I wonder what I'll come up with next?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is National Cake Decorating day and I couldn't think of a better way to mark the occasion than by writing a little indulgent something set in this AU. Enjoy!

_Approximately ten months later…_  

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Because you’re an idiot who can’t say no.” 

“You’re not helping.” Tim stares in despair at the spongy layers of cake that refuse to do what he wants them to. He knows they can since he’s pulled this off before, but today… “What the hell am I doing wrong?” 

This is why Tim doesn’t do special events and last minute requests. It all goes to hell in a handbasket in no time flat. Although a case can be made about how everything turns out alright in the end. Case in point, his boyfriend of almost a year standing here laughing at him. 

Jason leans against the metal prep table and crosses his arms, eyeing the mess of cake and buttercream with a critical eye. “No idea, but it looks edible to me.” 

Closing his eyes, Tim counts to ten and takes a deep breath. Does it again, backwards. In Spanish. French. German. Even Japanese because dammit, he can count to at least ten in a lot of languages just to prove to Ives that he could. 

Right. He’s got this. It’s just a last minute request from Bruce for a cake that needs to feed about twenty people that all happen to be super heroes of the highest order. Because apparently, even Batman is occasionally responsible for bringing refreshments to a Justice League meeting. 

“Why couldn’t I just give him a few dozen cupcakes and call it a day?” Tim mutters. The cake isn’t firm enough for what he wants it to do. He needs to start over. Again. 

“You’re the one who jumped up and down and practically wet himself over the chance to make a cake for the League.” 

This may be somewhat accurate. Tim’s inner fanboy almost passed out when Bruce called earlier, interrupting his and Jason’s day off, to ask if he could have a cake ready for this evening. Jason wasn’t happy when Tim said yes and dragged them to the closed shop so he could start creating. 

Before Tim has a chance to get a new batter started, Jason grabs hold of him and tugs him away from the remains of his not-so-glorious creation. 

“What?” Tim asks, but Jason shushes him as he envelopes Tim in his arms. 

“I know this is a big deal for you and all, but seriously, you can chill out. This is like the equivalent of a PTA or board meeting. Your cake is just going to sit on a table in the mess hall for anyone who happens to pass by and take a slice.” 

Tim deflates against Jason’s broad chest, the wind gone from his sails. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he complains. 

“Because I love watching you get your mad scientist on.” 

Punching Jason in the stomach hurts Tim’s hand more than it hurts him, but he does it anyway. “You’re such an asshole.” 

“It’s how I show I care.” Jason presses a kiss against Tim’s temple. “Come on, I know you can fix this.” 

Tim knows he can too. He also knows how to get a suitable revenge later once he’s done. But first, cake. 

~*~*~ 

It doesn’t turn out too badly, Tim decides an hour later as he gazes down at his creation. Sure it’s not one of his best, but considering the time constraints and his driving need for utter perfection, the pumpkin-shaped cake looks pretty good. 

“I still think I could have sculpted it,” Tim states as he carves the outline of a bat symbol across the face of the cake. 

“I’m sure you could have, given more time,” Jason replies, finally looking up from his book. He’d wisely retreated to Tim’s nook of an office to leave him be after diverting him from his earlier meltdown. 

Tim carefully sets the black fondant bat he’d made onto the cake. Against the brilliant orange frosting, it stands out just as it does in Gotham’s night sky. “I just need to glaze this really quick and stick it in the fridge to set. Bruce is supposed to be here in what? An hour?” 

Jason checks his watch and nods. “About that, yeah. He hates these things, so he’ll probably be late, especially if he has to bring snacks for the kiddies.” 

Over the last year, Tim has learned more about the super hero community than he could shake a stick at. Some of the stories are funny. Others are completely hilarious. Many are sad and tragic. One thing has been made glaringly clear to him though. The Bats of Gotham, these all-too-human heroes who stand shoulder to shoulder with powerful aliens and demigods and metahumans, have absolutely zero sense of awe over how fucking cool it is that they get to call Superman and Wonder Woman by their real names. 

Then again, Tim’s the one who regularly gets into it with Batman over how he needs to incorporate more sugar-free options into his repertoire because he’s giving his children cavities. It’s not his fault that Dick and Damian, and even Cassandra when she’s in town, like to stop by the bakery more than is probably good for them. This is what he does for a living. Making sweet, indulgent treats for those who can afford them and feel like tossing sense and their diets out the window for the sake of a cupcake. 

Tim finishes up and the cake is soon chilling in the fridge. Not for the first time, he wonders why Bruce had him make a cake rather than Alfred or just stopping by the grocery store to pick up a cheap sheetcake for all the apparent care he has for this upcoming meeting. The mind of Bruce Wayne is not one Tim cares to delve into often. 

Jason joins him at the sink, sneaking glances every so often as he helps Tim wash up. Tim tries not to smirk because he knows exactly what has his attention. There is a smear of frosting on his cheek from where he may have _accidently_ brushed it earlier when he was done decorating. Even after almost a year, Jason still has a complete and utter fascination with licking frosting and whatever else that’s possibly edible from Tim’s body. 

Revenge is still in the back of his mind, but it’s not often they have a chance to fool around in the shop anymore. Not with their crazy schedules. That’s why Sunday nights and Mondays are practically sacred for them. This is their time together and Tim completely understands why Jason is peeved that Bruce interrupted it. He can be forgiven if he tries to seduce his boyfriend by way of frosting as a means of apologizing. 

Almost everything is washed and put away before Jason makes a move, boxing Tim against the prep table. “I think you have something on your face,” he says, his gaze locked onto Tim’s cheek. 

“Do I?” Tim bats his eyes innocently. “How clumsy of me.” 

Jason grins and steals what is clearly meant to be a quick kiss, but Tim latches onto him and drags it out into something much longer. He loves the way Jason tastes and could easily spend all evening right here simply worshipping his mouth. However, there’s something else he wants more. 

“Someone’s eager,” Jason teases, fingers already starting to toy with Tim’s apron strings. “Whatcha got in mind?” 

Tim reaches under his apron to unbuckle his belt. “We’ve got about thirty minutes. You tell me.” 

“Hard and fast now, then when we get home, I’ll make you dinner since I was kind of a dick earlier. I should have said something sooner about that cake.” 

Tim kisses Jason again to seal the deal. “As long as you’re wearing nothing but the apron I bought you for your birthday, that works for me.” 

It’s cute and frilly and was meant as a joke, but Jason loves the damn thing and Tim can’t get enough of seeing him and his ass in it. 

Jason presses even harder against Tim, trapping his hands between them. “Done. Now turn around so I can make you feel good before Bruce interrupts us again.” 

“He has a way of doing that.” 

“He’s fucking Batman, of course he does.”


End file.
